#survivor's guilt (fic)

[olailamajnoon]

Dick on the phone, at 3 pm in the afternoon: Forgive me father for I have sinned.

Bruce, just woken up, squinting at the alarm clock: Dick it's 3 pm. what is this.

Dick, tearfully: My confession! I couldn't sleep, Bruce. I was the one who drove my hamster to suicide! I didn't feed him malt cookies like I was supposed to! He climbed on the exercise wheel and didn't stop running until he died.

Dick: *continues sobbing*

Bruce: okay so first of all.

Bruce: I'm not a priest.

Bruce: And second of all. Animals don't commit suicide.

Dick: Mari did!

Bruce: You named your male hamster after your mother...?

Dick: NOT THE POINT, BRUCE!

Dick: but yes.

Bruce, sighing: There's so much to unpack here I don't know where to start.

Dick: I killed him, Bruce. I should have died along with him!

Bruce:...

Bruce: It's possible that you've associated your hamster's death with the trauma of your parents' death, possibly because of shared names, and you've displaced your survivor's guilt from the first onto the second.

Dick:...

Dick: So what should I do.

Bruce: In my experience, the best way to deal with survivor's guilt is to save as many people as you can, possibly people in the same situation as the loved ones you have lost, hoping that the heroic nature of your deeds lets you sleep at night.

Dick: And what if that doesn't work?

Bruce: Then you drink. Get shitfaced drunk every time you feel a pang. Or you can pray to a nonexistent god and an uncaring universe.

Dick:...

Dick: If I come over, will you break out the good whiskey.

Bruce: I thought you'd never ask.

[sassypantsjaxon]

Listen. I know most of the earlier one piece movies aren't really canon, but I am obsessed with the implications of Saga in the Cursed Holy Sword, because he really adds a layer to Zoro's relationships with his rivals.

Okay. First, there's Kuina. His first rival. The one he can never beat. The promise to become the greatest. Untouchable, indestructible, until she isn't. Wado Ichimonji.

Then there's Saga. His next rival. They're more equally balanced. They're both orphans. There's an understanding there. A more even footing that he didn't have with Kuina. A gifted short sword instead of an inherited katana.

And Sanji. The proof of Zoro's rule of three. Twice over, in fact, third rival, third son. Never gives Zoro an inch in a fight, but doesn't hesitate to give him food afterwards. He doesn't fight with a sword, so there's no blade shared between them. Instead there's a much heavier promise.

Kuina dies. Saga dies. Both so close to Zoro, and he couldn't even do anything. Of course Zoro's worried when Sanji boards the sea train by himself. Of course he pushes Sanji out of the way at Thriller Bark. Of course he's angry with Sanji when he runs off to Whole Cake.

Zoro's already mourned his first two best friends rivals. Does he really have to go through that again?

Maybe Kuina wouldn't have fallen if Zoro had never asked her to fight him. Maybe if Zoro had been a little better he could have saved Saga. Maybe Zoro will have to kill Sanji himself.

[meta-squash]

I think two of the most important things about Jack Harkness, two things that inform almost everything he does and the choices he makes, are this: that he is a soldier NOT a leader, and that his entire life since childhood has been awash in survivor's guilt (and his whole existence after becoming immortal is an even more extreme version of survivor's guilt).

Jack is not a natural leader. He can think on the fly and he's good at getting people to listen to him, but he's not good at control, or at being objective. He's a natural second in command, he's a soldier. He was brought up to do what other people told him to, and to improvise if he had to (Time Agency, etc). But I really don't think he wants to be the leader of Torchwood. Unfortunately, everything about him means that he has to be. He knows from experience that others having control over him is dangerous, others knowing about his immortality while he's a subordinate to them is dangerous, and he also knows that his own immortality gives him an advantage as a leader. But I don't think he's good at leading. He tries to be. But he's fumbling along, in a time period he's not native to and a planet he's not native to and an unfathomable lifespan, and as charming as he is I think he's often not good with people. He's detached where he should be personal and emotional where he should be detached (or at least more level-headed). He's often too extreme or not harsh enough when it comes to things like discipline or dealing with the problems/traumas/mistakes of his employees or even civilians. He can't handle his employees seeing him uncertain/vulnerable and it makes for huge problems over and over again.

But all of this does make sense because I think in the back of Jack's mind there's always this wheel spinning, these gears turning and turning and calculating the impact and trauma each of his actions or decisions or the events around him are going to have on his own emotions for far longer than normal humans tend to consider. Because the catalyst for any part of the life we see him leading is survivor's guilt. He lost his father and his brother on the same day, joined the military and lost his best friend, joined the Time Agency and lost his memories (and maybe thinks he did something terrible). Then he died, and when Rose brought him back, he was all alone on the satellite with nothing but the corpses of the people who had fought beside him and zero explanation as to why he survived, and he had lost Rose and the Doctor besides. And then all his life on earth since, he has lost coworkers and lovers and civilians he tried and failed to save and probably also aliens he tried and failed to save. And I think by the time he becomes reluctant leader of Torchwood, every action is, whether conscious or subconscious, taken with the intent of minimizing that kind of trauma and the impact of loss.

Except that I think that the survivor's guilt has another layer to it, which is that feeling of needing to sacrifice or absolve himself in some way. No one else is willing to make the difficult decisions, no one else will move forward with the painful and unpleasant actions, even if there's no other way, even though they will someday perish and no longer see the ripples of their actions. But Jack - who cannot die, who must live with the guilt or the pain or the trauma of those actions and decisions for the rest of his very very very long life - is the one who realizes that he must take on those painful responsibilities and must do certain things even though they're terrible, because it ends up being the sacrifice of one over the whole world. And every single time, he's guilty about it, and that makes him want even more to sacrifice his own hurt for the grief and loss of others.

So it's this strange cycle of wanting to protect himself from hurt and from loss and from the survivor's guilt, but being driven by guilt towards painful and/or self-sacrificing actions. Which then makes him fear being seen as vulnerable or uncertain, and he struggles to do things on a smaller scale or in a more level-headed way, because he's not supposed to be leading like this, it's not something that comes naturally, and if he makes emotional connections by being a leader, he'll end up trapped in survivor's guilt yet again each time one of his employees or friends or lovers dies.

It's just a terrible cycle and he's trapped in it for the rest of his existence. Although if he really is the Face Of Boe, then I imagine at some point he eventually finds peace with it all or something, but I think so long as he has a human-form he's stuck with this cycle of leadership and loss and sacrifice and mistakes.

I think it's really important that Jack is not good at his job as a leader. He makes a ton of mistakes, he fucks up so much and his employees or even civilians end up collateral damage, whether physically or just emotionally. He wants to be a good leader, I think, and he's trying, but he's fallible, and he's a stranger in literally every sense, and I think a really big part of his character is that he constantly is forced to live in this bizarre dichotomy where he has to be both very distant and cold and detached, and also very emotional and intense and personal. And any other person would collapse under the stress of repeating that over and over and over again for decades, but he has to figure out how to navigate this weight as an infinite existence that can't ever collapse or let it burn him up and kill him.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Whumptober 2024 No.18 & No. 20

Prompt 18: Survivor’s guilt (Alt)

Prompt 20: “It’s not your fault.”

Warnings: Mentions of canonical character death

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader

gif by @daryl-dixon-daydreams

There was no answer when you knocked, the silence as thick as the tension, making the door heavier and harder to open. The single candle had burned down to an oddly shaped sculpture, its curves and dips dimming the flame’s reach. The dinner tray you had brought earlier remained untouched, the soup cold and sandwich soggy.

Your heart ached just as much as it burned, scorched with rage that simmered just below your ribs. Daryl was on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the floor. It was as if he’d turned to stone, frozen within a nightmare. And you feared he had forever become trapped in a place you couldn’t reach.

“Daryl.” You tried, keeping your distance. He was a wounded animal, fearful and dangerous at the same time. He remained as he was. He had clung to you so tightly when he had clambered off the back of the bike, his legs giving and his tears flowing. It had been the only reaction you had seen from him in his day and a half back at Hilltop. “Daryl.”

You still didn’t approach, but finally he blinked, his bruised and bloodshot eyes sliding over to finally acknowledge you. The attention didn’t last. He was back to staring at the floor within seconds.

You risked two deliberate steps toward him before crouching, making yourself smaller in hope that it would not arouse the terror held at bay within him.

“You need to eat, sleep.”

Nothing.

Sighing, you slowly stood and stepped back before turning away, bending over the candle in preparation to blow it out, a new one beside it so as to keep the darkness away from your partner. The least you could do was stay, give him a measure of comfort that he wasn’t alone.

“Should’a been me.”

His voice was raspy, tired, and so unexpected that you gasped. When you spun to regard him, he hadn’t moved. “What?”

Daryl cleared his throat after an agonizing period of silence. “Was ready. Deserved it. Should’a been me.”

A flash of red, Glenn’s final words. Your lip quivered and your eyes closed as you gathered your bearings. “No.” You whispered, reassuming the earlier position a few feet from him. “Daryl, it’s not your fault.”

“Was. Is.” He muttered, a tear breaking free to cascade down his cheek. You wanted so badly to wipe it away and hold him.

“Negan was going to do what he was going to do. You had no influence over him.” You attempted, dropping to your knees and shuffling forward a few inches at a slow pace.

“F’I hadn’t��” The words dried up on the tip of his tongue, his eyes squeezing shut.

“Oh, Daryl.” You knew he would carry this forever, a guilt on his shoulders that he’d never shed. He still carried Beth after all this time. The weight had lessened, finally splintering off to allow you to carry a portion for him, a burden you were more than willing to bear for him. “You couldn’t stop him.”

His eyes slowly peeled open, wet and shining, and you could no longer stay away.

“Please.” You began. “Let me help you.” When his head turned, even with the heavy pain his expression bore, you had never been more relieved. No, that wasn’t true. The relief came when he nodded, a simple dip of his head that had you carefully climbing to your feet and approaching.

When your hand touched his shoulder, the dam broke. His hands found your waist and pulled you toward him, his face finding shelter against your stomach as his shoulders shook in silent sobs. Gentle fingers carded through his hair, hushed syllables making an effort to soak up even a portion of his suffering.

Each tear, each jerk of his body was gasoline on the inferno raging within you.

And Negan would burn.

[loveinhawkins]

What if Eddie being the fourth Vecna victim was inevitable? Because he’s connected to all of the murders, even the ones he didn’t witness: Max lives opposite him, and Fred died so close to the trailer park.

Dustin theorising about a powerful psychic connection, and what’s more powerful, more haunting than believing that every death leads back to you? That there’s a reason for it, that maybe you’re the problem, the poison in the water.

It’d be so easy to think that splitting headaches are just the result of being on the run, of dehydration. Then, as it gets worse, Eddie seeing shadows out the corner of his eye—that’s just because they’re in The Upside Down, and he spooks easily, he…

He doesn’t know that it’s a trick, even when he falls through the Gate to his vine-free bedroom and no-one’s there, or maybe it’s more that he wants to believe in it, to believe that the past few days were just a nightmare after all, and Chrissy…

He runs to the living room, she’s still—

But the same nightmare unfolds, and Eddie has to watch as she dies all over again; he tries to stop it, but now every time he touches her, it brings more pain, something was inside her head, pulling, and the thought in his head gets stronger and stronger, takes root: this was you; this was all you.

He wakes to Steve grabbing him as he falls, and he screams, fighting against Steve’s hold, can barely hear Steve saying, “Hey, hey, woah, it’s all right, I’ve—”

“Put me back,” Eddie begs. “Put me back.”

“Eddie,” Steve says, like the wind’s been taken out of him.

“She was there,” Eddie says, sobbing now, “she was there, she was right there, and I—I—”

“Eddie,” Steve repeats helplessly.

He’s staring at Eddie like he doesn’t know how to help him, like Eddie’s already too far away to reach.

Maybe he’s right, because Eddie can still feel something in his head, twisting, lying in wait; maybe that’s what he’s really been trying to escape as he kept running—maybe he’s just living on borrowed time.

[friendship-ditch]

Whumptober Day 14 - Survivors Guilt (Alt.)

Platonic Aragorn x Fem!Reader ✼

Summary: After a harsh battle in Bree, Aragorn blames himself for the lost lives.

Warnings/Notes: Lil alcohol abuse and sad Aragorn

Word Count: 1201

  “How many of those drinks do you plan on downing?” You watched in amazement as Aragorn finished his sixth flagon.

  The man beside you, your ranger partner since the two of you both first started out, was not a heavy drinker. At best he had a few ciders and even then he felt it terribly in the morning. Now here he is finishing these drinks off like it was a job and he was being timed.

  Aragorn wiped his mouth with a grimace. Alcohol’s effects on him were slow but once the hill steeped downward there was hardly a second in between his sober and utterly inebriated states. It hadn’t kicked in yet but you had a feeling that time was coming.

  “As many as I can.” He muttered gruffly before waving to the bartender for another. His fingers eagerly reached for the new glass, about to lift it to his lips when your hand grabbed his arm.

  “Take it easy…” You murmured. You expected him to comply, not to suddenly drink as much of the ale as he could. When he finished the whole thing in a few gulps you slapped him on the arm. “What is wrong with you?!”

  You were quite right. The alcohol's effects were beginning to seep in.

  Aragorn stared at you through bleary eyes for a moment, twitching a little. Then he turned away. “I need to forget.” He mumbled. “Just for a while…”

  You tugged his arm again but he refused to look at you. Even your gentle slap to his arm didn’t draw him out of the strange trance he had fallen into, eyes boring a hole into the wooden counter of the bar. Finally you shoved him with your shoulder, snapping him out of it a little.

  “Forget what? What’s going on with you?” You frowned, moving your hand to rest on his back. 

  Earlier today the rangers had taken down a large army of orcs in Bree. You all had arrived halfway through the battle and saved the remaining citizens of the small town. It was Aragorn’s idea to go to the Prancing Pony Tavern afterwards and celebrate victory, but now it was as if he wasn’t even there beside you, more of a shell than a man.

  “We should have gotten here earlier.” Aragorn finally whispered. You could hardly hear him over the loud banter of the bar, but his words clicked in your ears after a few seconds.

  Your thumb rubbed in soft circles against his cloak. “There was nothing we could have done, Aragorn.”

  “There was… If we had run faster.. Traveled lighter… didn’t stop for that stupid, stupid rainstorm, we could have saved so many more lives, y/n…” He rasped, voice starting to become a little incoherent as both the grief and alcohol numbed his mouth, filling it with ash and fluff. “Everyone that died�� those poor citizens. They were unprepared and… and we were supposed to save them.” Aragorn was struggling to catch his breath now, fingers digging into your arm as his eyes stung with tears. “We were supposed to save them but we didn’t.”

  You thought back to the attack.

  The orcs were vicious and merciless, killing any citizen they could get their hands on, from the town guards to the young volunteers who had seen far too few winters and could hardly wield a sword. Out on the field you had to make the choice between saving a boy, hardly an adult, or Aragorn. Regardless to say, as much as it hurt, you did in fact choose the latter. You knew Aragorn would be horrified with your choice and angry with you but you couldn’t bear the thought of losing your best friend. 

  He never confronted you on the incident but it was clear now that it was weighing him down heavily. He was bordering on the edge of some sort of panic attack or melt down, air going everywhere but his lungs as his head spun. The alcohol in his system was not helping, making him too unsteady to stand and leave himself.

  So you did the next best thing.

  You dragged him to his feet and–half carrying him–brought him outside.

  The second the cold air hit your skin he broke into sobs in your arms. The weight of the pain and tears made him surprisingly heavy, even for you. So you dragged him once more until the two of you were tucked behind some barrels, just letting him cry into your arms.

  “It should have been me.” Aragorn wept into your chest, fingers clutching your clothing so tightly he was almost ripping it with ragged nails, torn from aiding in burying the dead. His sobs grew more animalistic and raw. Aragorn had an awful habit of punching walls or such when he was distraught like this and his fists were shaking from the force of restraint, trying desperately not to punch you on accident.

  You eventually nudged him in a way that set his energy free and he pounded into the ground a few times before his fists met your torso. It didn’t really hurt. You held him through the whole thing, accepting whatever misplaced throws and globs of tears that fell from his face. What else could you do?

  When the alcohol fully kicked in and all Aragorn could get out was soft whimpers and whines, now sort of rocking back and forth in your arms, you held him tighter. You gently tucked his face into the crook of your neck, raking your fingers through his hair in soothing motions, fingers grazing his scalp. The motion soothed Aragon slightly but it was your words that did the true deed.

  “It is not your fault Aragorn.” You murmured softly to him, feeling him gasp for breath against your skin. “I would always save you… no matter what. You do not need to wish to have given your life for these strangers… what’s done is done. Love what you still have, not mourn what you could’ve.”

  Aragorn whimpered. “But…”

  “But nothing. We saved Bree. Yes, lives were lost, but lives always are.” You whispered. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here sooner… and I’m sorry so many died, but beating yourself up over it will not bring them back.”

  Shakily, Aragorn rubbed his red face. Your words, though blunt, were true, he couldn’t deny that. 

  He slowly pulled his face and looked up at you through tear cladden eyes. “Sorry…” He whispered, sounding more like a lost puppy than a ranger.”

  You chuckled a little and shook your head, planting a gentle kiss to the top of his. “Don’t be. Just… let’s just sit here for a while, alright?”

  “...alright.” Aragorn whispered.

  If there was one thing you were not looking forward to, it was dragging a very drunk Aragorn back into the tavern and putting him to bed… as well as what would follow in the morning. For now, you were content with sitting here, curled up behind some barrels with him in your arms. And he seemed to feel the same as the last of his pain faded with a heavy sigh, his head laying back down on your shoulder.

[mythboundcal]

The Last Person to Say My Name That Way Naruto (Kakashi) Fanfic by MythboundCal

He dreams of her in water.

Not the battlefield. Not the mud and blood and the moment everything went wrong. Just… water. Still. Cool. Quiet.

Rin sits with her feet in the stream. Not smiling, not angry—just there. Like the past didn’t happen. Or maybe it hasn’t yet.

“Kakashi,” she says, and that’s the part that breaks him.

Not her face. Not her voice. But the way she says his name. Like it still means something good.

He doesn’t speak. Not yet. Not in these dreams. He just sits. A little downstream. Close enough to feel the ripples.

“You still think it was your fault,” she says after a while, plucking a petal from the water. “It wasn’t.”

“You died,” he replies. The petal slips through her fingers.

“So did you,” she says.

That part stings. Not because it’s untrue—but because she says it without blame.

Kakashi stares at the water. There’s no reflection. There never is.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness,” he says.

Rin hums. “Good. Because I’m not offering it.”

A pause.

“I’m just here.”

And somehow, that’s worse.

Because he wants to be punished. He wants her to scream. To cry. To make him say it out loud. But Rin… is just kind. Like she always was. And it guts him in ways the war never did.

She stands. Water doesn’t cling to her feet. She leaves no footprints on the grass.

He doesn’t look up. But she touches his shoulder. And for a moment, his whole body remembers what it was like to be chosen without effort.

“Try again,” she says gently. “And let someone say your name the way I used to.”

She fades before he can answer. She always does.

But when he wakes up, Kakashi whispers it to the ceiling anyway—

“Rin.”

And the way it echoes in his own voice… almost sounds like hope.

[tabbytabbytabby]

Can't wish it all away

Word Count: 1,397 words

Rating: Teen and Up

Warning: Major Character Death

Fandom: 9-1-1

Relationship: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard

Tags: Season/Series 08, Episode: s08e15 Lab Rats (9-1-1 TV), Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Evan "Buck" Buckley Needs A Hug, Tommy Kinard Takes Care of Evan "Buck" Buckley, Tommy Kinard Loves Evan "Buck" Buckley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Mentioned Bobby Nash

Summary: In the aftermath of the lab, Buck works through his grief. But he doesn't have to do it alone.

Read on AO3

For the Survivors Guilt space for @badthingshappenbingo. Card under the cut.

[quietlyimplode]

ignite your bones

After the fall of General Dreykov, and the remnants of the Red Room still at large, Natasha first year at SHIELD is anything but healing. Labeled a traitor and a turncoat, Natasha tries to find her footing in a strange new world.

Whumptober 2024: Day 21 - Alt Prompt - Survivors Guilt

Warnings: child trafficking, red room (start of black widow)

Word Count: 2k (gif not mine)

Summary: Natasha and Yelena are split up. Clint and Natasha talk about their siblings.

Masterlist

Whumptober Masterlist

.

Yelena’s body is warm against her, Natasha can feel her body shaking, tears still running down her face.

They’re dirty, and tired and the smell in the shipping container makes her feel nauseous.

They can all hear the commotion outside, the container stationary.

Natasha can hear the whimpers and sobs of the other girls, everyone is so afraid. She is so afraid.

If they send her back there…

She feels tears on her own face as she hugs Yelena tighter.

They hang onto each other, Yelena’s little fingers pieces into her skin, but Natasha doesn’t care. She wants to go back to when they were at the house, back to her room.. Back to before.

She feels like she’s drowning.

The commotions outside, boots against the road, car doors slamming, screams of other girls; heightens everyone.

Their door opens.

No one can contain their fear.

One of the younger girls scream.

It’s piercing.

Natasha feels Yelena look up, the fear overrides them both.

Screaming, Natasha feels the fear take over.

Her whole body feels like she can’t take it.

She screams as they get hauled out, pushed against the wall of the container.

“Stand straight,” the order comes.

None of the smaller girls move.

One of them is hit, then pushed to the side.

Natasha stands in front of Yelena, trying to obscure her from view.

Flashlights and bright lights.

It’s chaos.

Girls sobbing.

Harsh voices.

The sound of a butt of a gun hitting flesh.

She seems him.

She knows the voice that haunts her dream.

Natasha tries to shove Yelena to the side.

It’s not too late for her to run, maybe hide.

The line of girls are pushed aside.

Pushed apart.

An arm grabs Yelena.

The scream of shock and pain makes Natasha hold on tighter.

Their screams add to the cacophony of sounds, but for Natasha all she can hear is Yelena.

The men in helmets pull her away, and Natasha screams in anguish. Yelena cries, she tries and fights.

Natasha feels her own body being dragged away.

She remembers how to fight.

Breaking free of his grip, she makes her way to her sister.

“Take this!”

Yelena stops fighting for a minute, as she pushes the pictures into her hands

“Take it!”

Yelena looks terrified.

They’re pulled apart and Natasha’s last view of her sister is her fighting against a soldier's arms surrounding her being pushed into a car.

She stops fighting then.

Feels all emotions bleed out of her onto the floor, until she feels empty.

She couldn’t save her.

She hears his voice.

He stands in front of her, smiling, grasping her face.

“The Red Room is your home now,” he tells her.

Forever, is the unspoken word.

She’s theirs forever.

“Put her in my car,” she hears him say.

Natasha feels herself get pushed, picked up and stuck into a car.

It starts to move and she looks around desperately for one last look at Yelena.

She keeps looking, until the world goes dark.

.

“I had a sister once,” she starts.

Clint perks up, the words the first thing she’s said in hours.

She’s speaking in Russian. The words are soft, and he has to think, he’s not sure what she’s saying.

Russian isn’t his most fluent language.

“Hey,” he says, voice as low as hers, trying to meet her where she’s at.

“I had a sister once,” she says again.

This time he understands.

He doesn’t say anything else, wondering what she’s looking for.

He wants to reassure her, help break her out of this catatonia-like state.

Clint looks at her face, hoping for some recognition of him.

The morning had broken with rain and a thunderstorm; Clint’s favourite weather, so he’d opened the door, and let the smell of petrichor in.

Her eyes close and a tear rolls down her cheek.

“What was her name?”

He could ask in Russian, but he opts for English.

Finally, Natasha’s eyes focus on him.

“Yelena.”

Clint is unsure whether to keep asking questions or just let her come out of whatever this is by herself.

He doesn’t know her well enough to know.

Instead, he sits next to her and just waits.

It seems to be the right move.

“She liked the stars, and balloons,” she starts, her voice thick, and accented.

The sound of rain beats down on the cabin and they both watch it in silence until Natasha speaks again.

“They took her. I never saw her again.”

The horror of Natasha’s past never seems to end, the trauma of her life continuous.

Even he’s added to it.

“I had a brother,” he offers.

She turns towards him, the tear tracks wiped away, and her attention on his words.

“What was his name?” she asks.

He takes a minute to interpret it.

“Barney,” he replies.

Natasha looks to the rain.

“He ran away with the circus, I chased him there and to then to the army.”

If he surprises her with his words, she doesn’t make comment. Maybe joining the circus and the army doesn’t mean anything to someone who made it out of the Red Room alive.

“Do you miss her?” Clint asks, feeling the familiar pang of grief.

She doesn’t answer straight away; he thinks perhaps she’s never allowed herself to think of the answer.

“Yes,” she replies, swiping at her eyes.

“I miss him too,” he admits.

“He was annoying and loud and always ordered me around, but I miss him, even after all these years.”

Natasha nods.

“I wish she made it rather than me.”

“I wish I ran away when I still could.”

“I wish I took her with me.”

“I wish…”

She stops herself. Clint can see she wants to keep going, her glassy eyes full of she’d tears at things she stops herself from saying.

He wishes he understood more.

“I wish a lot of things,” she finishes.

The clouds seem to get darker, and Clint glances at his watch.

“Me too.”

He pulls the water bottle from his backpack and offers it to her.

“Here.”

Scabbed hands take it, and Clint nods.

“We have to go,” he sighs.

.

[thevoidstaredback]

Part 1

When he woke up, the only thing he could feel was pain. He wondered for a moment about what was happening, but threw that thought aside when he registered that he was hanging upside down. And like that, he knew exactly where he was.

“Forget it!” yelled the voice of his childhood nightmares, “Get me my sword!”

“But, sir! He’s-he’s a kid!”

“Get me my damn sword!”

Luffy didn’t remember blacking out, but he must’ve if this was when he’d ended up. Either that or he had actually died for a minute when he was a kid. Huh. Don’t tell Chopper.

He’d grown used to blood and injuries and everything accompanying them a while ago out of necessity. The threat of death was a looming presence since his childhood, but he’d never feared it. There was nothing to fear, he thought, and it was pointless to fear an eventuality. Being trapped, however, was one of the things he hated the most. Being tied up, helpless and at the mercy of his captors, was something he’d not experienced since he was seven. And now, he was right back where he started.

And, exactly as he remembered, the wall directly behind him shattered inwards, throwing splinters everywhere. He couldn’t stop his smile as his brothers - both so small, but bigger than him, and not yet his - came to his rescue.

Sabo made quick work of the rope that was hanging him from the ceiling, catching him just before he hit the ground. Ace stood with his back to them, keeping them as blocked from view as his four-foot-tall body could manage. Luffy cried at the sight of his brothers, fully planning on shifting the blame to his injuries.

“Damnit, Ace, c’mon! Let’s go!” Sabo yelled.

Ace didn’t so much as twitch, not allowing any of his enemies out of his sight. “I never run from a fight.”

Sabo scowled, “Ace!” His eyes shifted between Ace and Luffy a few times before he let Luffy fall to the floor so that he could stand up. “You stay here!”

The two ten-year-olds made quick work of the washed up pirates, leaving them all unconscious and sporting more than a few broken bones between them.

Luffy hadn’t realised the full extent of his grief until just then. His brothers, both dead in his own time, were here. He was with them again. They were both alive!

And they were both scolding him in the middle of the forest while he cried.

“That’s a nasty habit you’ve got, Ace,” Sabo said as he finished wrapping some stolen bandages around Luffy’s head.

Ace ignored him, weighing his pipe - repaired with some tape from the Grey Terminal - in his hands, “It just doesn’t feel right.”

Just like last time, Luffy couldn’t stop his tears, despite his best efforts. He just couldn’t help it! Ace had died in his arms four years ago now, and Sabo had been killed feet away from him a year ago! The two of them being here was as overwhelming as it was gratifying. He will save them both this time, come Hell or high waters.

“Quit cryin’!” Ace yelled as he jumped off the boulder he’d been sitting on, “I hate cry babies.”

Sniffling, Luffy managed to slow his tears, but he couldn’t completely stop them. “I’m not a crybaby.”

Sabo barked a short disbelieving laugh while Ace said, “Yes, you are!”

“Yeah?” Luffy challenged, falling easily into the rhythm of arguing with his brother, “You ever been punched with a spiked glove?!”

The two older boys flinched back. “He’s just being thankful,” Sabo said to his friend, “Give him a break.”

Ace just scoffed and turned away. “Why didn’t you tell them where we hid the money? It woulda save ya a lot of trouble.”

“I thought that if I told them, you wouldn’t wanna be my friend,” his voice cracked. Ace had been in his life for so long… He’d do everything he could to keep him in it this time. Even if that did mean repeating the same adventures.

A look of surprise flashed across Ace’s face. “Why would you wanna be my friend anyway? I gave you such a hard time. Why follow me?”

He was almost hesitant as he said, “Because there’s no one else.” He didn’t meet their eyes. “I can’t go back to Foosha Village, and I hate mountain bandits! If I didn’t follow you, then I woulda been all alone.” He looked up, directly into the boys’ eyes as he finished, “And being alone hurts worse than being hurt!”

Ace folded his arms over his chest. “What about your parents?”

“Gramps is all I have.”

“It’s easier for you when I’m around?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it hard without me?”

“Yeah.”

A beat. “Do you want me to live?”

Luffy took full offence to the doubt he could hear in Ace’s voice. With every last bit of conviction that he could manage, he looked into the older boy’s eyes and stated, “Of course I do!” He dared either of them to challenge his resolve.

“Okay,” Ace breathed, turning away, “But I don’t like spoiled brats like you.”

Luffy denied the accusation, butting heads with Ace. He was so lost in the useless, familiar, argument that he could almost forget he’d held this very same boy - man - as he died. He could almost forget that he wasn’t actually seven.

“This is great and all,” Sabo interrupted, “But I’ve got a real problem here.” When Luffy and Ace turned to look at him, he continued, “Where am I supposed to live? Bluejam’s gonna have goons crawling all over Middle Forest and Gray Terminal looking for us. What if I get attacked in my sleep?”

The three stood in thought for a few minutes before Luffy suggested that Sabo come live with him and Ace. They shared a grin before racing towards the run-down hut.

It was easy to sneak Sabo into their room. And, when Ace and Sabo had fallen asleep, he checked the ribbon of his hat. When he couldn’t find the little piece of paper he’d been expecting to feel, he panicked a bit, shooting to sit up and searching frantically. Just as the doom of Plan B started to set in, he found a little piece of paper, two strings of numbers written on it. Quickly, he folded it back up and hid it under the seam he’d found it in. Then, he fell asleep, he not-yet brothers on either side of him.

When he woke up, the only thing he could feel was pain. He wondered for a moment about what was happening, but threw that thought aside when he registered that he was hanging upside down. And like that, he knew exactly where he was.

***

It was surreal to wake up between his brothers again. He laid awake for an hour, just relishing in the feeling of being with them again. Then, the door opened and he slammed his eyes shut.

Dadan stopped in the doorway, blocking most of the light from coming into the room. “One, two, three,” she counted, “Huh?” This happened several more times and Luffy found himself struggling to not giggle. “Ace, Luffy,” she listed, “Huh?” Finally seeming to register the extra boy in the room, she screeched, “Ace! Luffy! Who is this?!”

Luffy sat up first, playing up the groggy feeling of just waking up. “Huh? Who’s who?” Then, he fell back to pretend to sleep again.

Next was Ace. “You’re too loud!” He groaned, turning over.

Sabo sat up and yawned. After a moment, he stood up completely, kicking Luffy and Ace in the process. “I’m Sabo!” he greeted.

“‘Sabo’, huh?” Dadan raised an eyebrow, “You’re the brat Ace talked about.”

“Ace talked about me?”

“He told me you’re a pain in the ass.”

A giggle. “He told me that you’re an old hag!” There was a bright smile on his face as he spoke. “A real man among men!”

“I’m a woman!”

“Oh, yeah?” He asked. “Well, you knowing about me makes this easier.” He grabbed her hand to shake it before she could so much as blink. “Thank you for taking care of me from today on!”

She ripped her hand back. “Who said you could stay here?!”

Instead of answering her verbally, Sabo farted. Luffy giggled.

“Don’t answer with a fart!”

Ignoring her shouts, the three ran from the building and into the forest. They could tell that it was going to be a great day.

Before they got too far past the treeline, Sabo turned back and yelled, “Oh, yeah! Dadan! We got a bit mixed up with Bluejam’s crew, so they might come ‘round here!”

***

It was a good few days for Luffy. Spending time with his not-yet brothers had all but pushed the last two years out of his focus for the time being. And, before he knew it, the end of the first week in the past had crept up, and with it came a visit from Makino and Mayor Woop Slap. He was so happy, in fact, that he forgot about his grandfather’s inclination for surprise visits.

“What did I tell you about spouting that pirate nonsense?” Ace and Luffy froze when they heard the voice behind them. “I told you two that you’re going to be great Marines!”

Luffy thought it was absolutely unfair that Gramps was using haki to hit him!

Garp turned his attention to Sabo. “Did you say something about being a pirate, too, squirt?”

Before Sabo could deny it, Luffy bounced up from the floor and shouted, “He’s not a squirt! He’s Sabo! And we agreed that we’re gonna set sail and become pirates!”

There was a dangerous look in Garps eye. “Oh?” Then, he hit Sabo in the head, oot. “I’m not gonna let any of you become pirates!”

As fast as they could, Ace, Sabo, and Luffy booked it from the bandit hut, their grandfather hot on their trail.

After an hour, the three boys finally lost Garp. They collapsed onto each other under the roots of a tall tree, cold but comfortable. Luffy hadn’t felt this warm in a while.

***

Waking up with two other people for the second morning in a row was an…experience. For his whole life, Sabo had only ever slept and woke up alone. He found that, strangely, he didn't mind waking up with other people, so long as those other people were these two.

The cave they'd slept in was bright and warm and comfortable and smelled like rain. He loved it.

He didn't know how long it would take for Ace and the kid to wake up, so Sabo crawled out from the roof cove they'd holes up in for the night and took a moment to figure out where in the jungle they'd ended up in.

The clearing the root cave was facing was fairly small, though it was big enough to safely have a large fire in the middle, and was surrounded on all sides by small - though they were huge compared to pretty much everywhere else in the East Blue - trees. The smell of sea water was stronger than up with the bandits, so they were likely by the shore or a cliff, though not close enough for it to actually matter.

The tree they’d slept under was huge. At least twice the size of the others around it.

Sabo grinned, an idea coming to mind. So, he grabbed a piece of bark that had been torn off a tree at some point, a twig big enough to work as a pen, and sat down next to some mud.

Ace and Luffy woke up at nearly the same time about an hour after Sabo had. Crawling out from under the roots together, they were quick to spot and join the blond boy.

“What’s that?” Luffy asked.

“Our secret base!” Sabo presented proudly, turning the bark around to show off his crude mud blueprints.

Ace matched his grin, though his was slightly more manic. “Well, what are we waiting for? This thing ain’t gonna build itself!”

It took a little over a week of near non-stop building for their treehouse to be constructed. The only breaks they took were to hunt and eat, sleep, and search for good building materials in the Gray Terminal and Middle Forest.

The treehouse wrapped halfway around the trunk of the tree, leaving about a foot of space between the planks and the trunk (It was very hard to pull off, but Sabo said that they’d choke the tree if they built it any closer). They hung a rope ladder out of a trapdoor in the floor, long enough that it touched the forest floor. There was another ladder carved directly into the tree that led to a crow’s nest that peaked out of the canopy the house was hidden in. And at the very top was a black flag with the painted letters ASL flying in the wind.

This was their home, their forest, their island. Nothing was taking that away now that their flag was protecting it.

“It’s beautiful,” Sabo said, leaning against the railing of the crow’s nest and staring out at the ocean.

“Yeah,” Luffy agreed. He missed the ocean.

“Luffy!” Ace called, startling him, “Man the sails!”

Luffy grinned, pushing down the part of him that wanted to scold his brother because I’m the captain. “Aye!”

Ace turned to Sabo, “Sabo, take our, um, heading!”

“Right!”

Playing together was probably nothing like sailing for real, but it was good practice for when they actually set sail.

“I want this to last forever,” Luffy said. Ace wasn’t contemplating his existence, Sabo wasn’t looking over his shoulder for shadows that were slowly creeping up, and Luffy was thrown back to when his brothers were still alive and everything was perfect.

“It won’t be able to,” Sabo said, “We’re all gonna set out and be pirates, right? If we do, then we won’t be able to play like this.”

Luffy sighed, turning over to let himself fall asleep, “I know. But that doesn’t mean I can’t hope.”

The two ten-year-olds shared a look over the sleeping seven-year-old before they covered him with a blanket and scrambled up to the crow’s nest.

“There’s something up with him,” Ace whispered, “But what?”

Sabo ruffled his hair in frustration, his hat down with Luffy’s, “I don’t know.”

“He looks so…lonely when he thinks we’re not looking.” Ace grumbled, “Why does he look like that?”

Sabo hummed, “He said hat Gramps is all he has,”

“But that’s not true! He’s got Makino and whoever that Shanks guy is.”

“Yeah. He’s definitely hiding something.”

“But what is it?”

A beat. “I saw him take a piece of paper out of his hat one time.”

“What?”

“It had numbers on it.”

“So?”

“So, it might be a den-den number!”

“What’s a den-den?”

“Uh… Doesn’t matter-”

“Is it that dead snail thing we found a while back?”

“Yes-”

“There are more of those things?!”

“Yes! Now would you shut up and listen?” Sabo waited a moment before huffing. “If that is a den-den number, then there’s probably someone who has the connecting line. That means he has someone other than Gramps. Someone who isn’t here but is clearly waiting for him.”

Ace’s expression went blank. Luffy lied to them? Why would he lie about not having anyone? To be their friend? Pathetic. He climbed down to the main base, ready to kick Luffy awake and give him a piece of his mind, but he stopped himself short.

“Ace!” Sabo hissed, fully prepared to have to drag Ace off of Luffy. He stopped beside Ace, looking to see what had stopped him. “What- Why’s he crying?”

“I don’t know.”

“He was so happy earlier. Why’s he crying?”

“I don’t know, Sabo.”

Part 3

[cels-not-so-secret-love-affair]

dead or alive? (sirius & regulus)

a/n: a little black brothers angst! still debating whether or not i like it, but sharing it anyways. heads up for reg not doing too hot.

‘Regulus?’

It is 04:00am and dark. Sirius is sat with his back against the bathroom door in his brother’s flat. His phone lies discarded on the floor, the bright screen of his messages with Barty acting as a torch in the early morning shadows.

‘Regulus?’ he repeats, voice quiet and thin. It sounds less like a name and more like a hope, feebler than he wants it to. He clears his throat abruptly and gives it another shot.

‘Listen,’ he says, attempting to bargain with the nothingness. ‘I’m not asking you to come out here and have a nice little chinwag about your feelings or any of that idiocy. I’m not a therapist, and I’m not going to force you to tell me about any of the shit you’re going through right now, promise. I just need to know that you’re okay.’ Sirius’ eyes flick down to the Whatsapp messages at his feet. He rubs his face roughly with his palm and gazes bitterly at the ceiling.

‘The things Barty’s been telling me are fucking scary, you know that? You’ve got to know that. Just knock or something. Come on.’ The clock down the hall cuts through the silence with a few jarringly loud ticks. It is 04:02am.

‘Fuck’s sake, Reg,’ he swears, exasperated. ‘Open the bloody door.’

‘You can’t hide in there forever. Aren’t you freezing? I’m freezing. Why don’t you ever put the heating on? I know you can afford it.’

‘I swear to God, this is getting ridiculous now. I know you’re there. I can see your damn shadow.’ Sirius’ long pale fingers tie themselves into knots over and over as he fidgets. More agonising silence.

‘Regulus.’ The door remains shut, and the shadow behind it remains unspeaking. It is 04:05am.

‘Should I get someone else here? Is it just me that you don’t want to talk to, is that it? If I got Evan or Remus or, shit, literally anyone else, would you speak to them?’ Desperation is beginning to crawl out of Sirius’ throat, mangling his words into raw, strained sounds that chase after each other quicker than they ought to.

‘Come on. You haven’t got vocal cords for nothing, you are aware of that right? Just say something. Just let me hear your voice, and then I’ll go away and never bother you again, yeah? Just let me know you’re alive. Please, Reg.’

‘You’re my little brother, you know. You’re still my little brother. I know you hate me, a-and I hated you too, for… longer than I should have, and growing up was pretty shite - I think we both understand that now. You know, I’ll always feel guilty for leaving you. I swear, there hasn’t been a single day where the guilt hasn’t eaten me alive, James could tell you. So you’ve every right to hate me. Really, you do. You could hate me for your whole entire life and I’d get it, seriously, I would get it! But you’re my little fucking brother, Reggie. C’mon. Just do this one thing for me, this time. I need to know my little brother’s okay. I need to know he’s here with me and not… not dead on the fucking floor. Give me that much.’

It is 04:12am when the handle turns. Sirius isn’t expecting it at all - he’s aching and exhausted and terrified and too used to silence. He jumps when he hears it, turns wide, shining eyes towards the sound with unsure anticipation. There’s a few moments of clumsy shuffling, and then the door is opening inwards onto a dull gloom that clings to the tiling and old-fashioned sink with unrelenting intensity. It is very quiet. For one terrible moment Sirius thinks, irrationally, that maybe Regulus isn’t there. That he’d been sitting in the hallway for the past twelve minutes begging thin air and the ghost of who used to breathe it. But then the shadows are shifting, taking on form and contour, becoming something more familiar. Regulus crawls out from behind the door with shaky breaths, and lets himself be lit by the phone on the floor in all his wretched vulnerability.

Sirius doesn’t move, at first. He just stares at his brother. Sees his grey eyes reflected back at him in a slightly younger yet equally pained mirror image. Sees those eyes flicker and move and relishes in the aliveness of them. Sees a not dead brother. Then it processes somehow, and he’s pulling that wonderful, infuriating, not dead brother hastily and instinctively towards him with both arms, and holding him, and crying without realising it. Regulus lets it happen. He collapses into the hug.

[hockeybot]

THAT PLAYER INTERVIEW, THO, THE ONE FROM TODAY WHERE THEY ASK HIM IF HE'S GOING TO BUY A HOUSE AND HE LAUGHS LIKE, YEAH, I GUESS I GOTTA

LIKE, he's 21 and lived alone for maybe six months now except is it really alone when he has all the rookies over all the time and my brain is going BRRR.

that prompt, wyatt buys a house, this is how he makes it a home one, tho, like, okay that is the most obviously me sentence ever written (x verb y, emotional hook full stop) but man, i have been watching those arwin critiques mansion youtube videos and i have so many thoughts about his potential house and what a disaster he would be trying to live in it on his own.

like, like,

everyone on the team would have such, opinions, about the best place to live, the neighbourhood and someone says the words "school zone" and someone else (tsegs) shrieks "JOHNNY ARE YOU PREGNANT" (the entire seguinette line go on a Skit, like, tsegs moaning WHAT DID I MISS and THEY GROW UP SO FAST and mush patting his back while wyjo just covers his face with his hands and prays that they don't start asking about the father. dutchy grins at him like he can read his mind).

(mikko has been on the team for about three days. wyatt tries really hard to not go up to him and say, i'm like, not actually pregnant. but mikko comes up to him and says, gravely, congratulations, on his way out. roope smirks at him.)

(roope had gone around with mikko to make introductions and called wyatt, 'our rookie, the kid' and when wyatt had protested, 'lian is right over there' and 'this is my third season,' harls had slid over, slung a heavy arm around wyatt's shoulders and crooned, 'yeah, johnny's a bigtime hotshot now, signed a big contract and everything.' into wyatt's red tipped ear.

lian, affable, had just waved.)

one of the finns (roope. it's always roope, but he's honestly just doing double duty for miro in Inscrutable Finn.) stops him outside and gives him a business card like, "this man will make you a sauna" and that's not a suggestion, that's a prophecy, that sauna will exist and this is before he even buys the damn house.

the thing is, he doesn't actually want like, a mansion, but when he counts up the bedrooms he'll need, the numbers keep going up and up.

takes tom to go looking and there's just, "why is there so much marble" wyatt moans, and "you could fit the entire team in this shower," tom says and they just, look at each other and try not to laugh too obviously while the real estate agent is still there. (facetimes delly to show him, wants to call logan but they're still exchanging awkward text messages only)

i will not write this, i really won't, because it'll take like 10k words to do justice but

wyatt hasn't spent most of his elc, didn't pay rent to the pavelskis despite offering again and again (Sarah had laughed at him and made Pav buy him like, furniture for his room, furniture he still has) so he has a little nest egg for his deposit, signs the agreement with more zeros than he's seen outside his contract, and has to sit down he's so lightheaded with the weight of five years pressing down on him.

it's summer when he moves in, between training and preseason and not having to try to convince too hard for tom to come back early with him, help him move boxes and unpack. every time he moves, his meager amount of belongings fill less and less of the space.

he doesn't expect to be lonely

tsegs suggests a dog, robo says cat and roope looks him up and down and says, maybe he should start with a hamster which. okay, wow. (wyatt can live without joe pavelski, okay, it's been two years and he's not dead yet - though maybe joe had come to stay in one of his woefully underfurnished guest rooms for a few nights already, that is besides the point)

WAVES HAND, the slow and not exactly sneaky campaign to get tom to move in, buys tom's brand of protein shakes that wyjo personally thinks is disgusting, etc, etc. I DON'T KNOW i don't have a plot and i don't wish to write this, i hope someone picks up the prompt tho, it would be so fun????

the thing is, wyatt's really bad at cooking for one. he can cook for a family of four or two young hockey players (roughly, this is the same amount of food) but by himself, he ends up staring confused at the still full pots after he's fixed himself a plate.

(calls tom, etc) and, maybe, it's not that late when wyatt suggests that tom sleep over, but they're health conscious elite athletes that should be on, like, routines or something so he pushes tom into the spare room closest to his own, already stocked with new toiletries in familiar brands.

(the finns are right, having his own sauna is awesome.)

[memelovescaps]

Beneath the Surface Chapter 23: RECONCILIATION

In which Severus finally has THE talk with Minerva, and things are cleared up so he can move forward!

But this wasn’t the Minerva he’d known—the one quick with a sly remark or an indulgent eye-roll. Now, there was a measured reserve, a subtle distance he couldn’t ignore, as though recent events had carved out a side of her he’d rarely seen, and even less often been subject to.

He gripped the armrest tighter, willing himself to remain steady. But beneath his composure, there was only the old fear—that all he’d done would be twisted and discarded, just as he had been so many times before.

“I am… sorry, Minerva…”

He lowered his gaze, swallowing as he tried to go past the lump in his throat. He looked down at his lap, trying to form the words he so needed to say. 

“I… I don’t know what to say, other than I am sorry… for everything,” he rasped, each word pulled from him like stones sinking in the Black Lake.

There was a beat of silence between them, Severus resisted the urge to raise his gaze. 

“You know,” Minerva began, her voice softened, almost hesitant, “I don’t know what I expected from you.” Her gaze held a mixture of disappointment and something else—was it concern?—before the edge returned to her voice. “But this… what happened last year was not it. And I’m sorry, Severus, but apologies can’t undo everything.”

He heard her chair shift, and though he didn’t look up, he sensed her moving around the desk to sit beside him. Silence fell, heavy and sharp between them, as Minerva's gaze bore into him, unwavering.

“Tell me, then, what exactly are you apologizing for? For lying to me all that time? For making me think I’d lost a friend to Voldemort’s influence?”

Her words were firm, though her voice softened briefly before she caught herself, and he could hear the faint, familiar gruffness of her Scottish accent slipping through. His fingers dug into his robes, gripping the fabric to anchor himself against the ache rising in his chest.

“Or,” she continued, her tone sharpening again, “for killing someone I cared about deeply, making us all believe you’d done it out of loyalty to Voldemort? For making me mourn him, all the while thinking you’d betrayed us?”

Available on Fanfiction and Wattpad as well.

[sukoshininja]

Outta Time

"We're not gonna make it."

Lance gritted his teeth as he held his breath as he lined up the sights and delivered a clean headshot. He did not come this far to have it end here. He would see this through.  "We're gonna make it. We have to."

"Lance."

It was just his name. But something about the way it was said. Just one word, but the sadness, acceptance, and firm finality of it. It was the truth, and it hit him hard enough that he lowered his rifle a hair. 

No. He shook his head and repositioned the barrel along his cheekbone. No, they could fight this, they could still make it out. "We just gotta--"

"Lance."

Now inflected with brokenness, a pathetic urgency. Suddenly he had to remember how to breathe. He missed his next two shots.  

"They won't, not while we're still inside."

But the funny thing was, somewhere in his mind he knew that wasn't true. They had waited so long for a chance like this, a chance that they were never going to get again. His comrades, they'd have no choice. He knew it but chose to believe they would wait anyway. Because if he didn't--

"Lance." 

Oh. He knew a spirit shattering when he heard it. His lungs were convulsing. Was he breathing?  His hands were trembling so hard he could barely hold his gun. 

A hand reached out and guided the gun down. "It's over."

Lance wrenched his attention away from the advancing enemy to see the most devastating thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Keith looked at him so tenderly, tears running streaks down his face that was mussed with grime and blood. So this is what giving up looked like. 

"Breathe, Lance."

Casualties were a part of this great game known as war. They all knew it could come at any moment. But for some reason Lance didn't think the day would come when his card would be up.

Why was Keith holding him so tight? What were those sounds? Like a dying sheep. Wait. That was him. Oh he was sobbing. Screaming. 

Keith cradled his head against his chest.

"It mattered. Everything mattered," he whispered, soft and soothing despite coming from his cracked lips. "If nothing else, you matter to me."

There was a weight on Lance's chest, making it so that he had to gasp for breath. His heart to beat so fast he was sure it would burst. The corners of his vision started to fade to black as all the sounds closed in around him. 

Only Keith's rough voice, quiet and calming made a lifeline that Lance desperately grasped for, keeping himself afloat. 

"Holy shit. We're gonna die, and you'll never know because I never told you."

Lance's tongue felt too big for his mouth, dead weight and useless. Somehow, he managed to ask "Told me what."

"That your smile lights up the universe more than a thousand suns. That everything sucks to the point that somedays I don't want to get out of bed in the morning, but I do, because I get to see you, and when I'm with you everything is a little less awful. That I break every time you look at her."

Lance was able to focus his eyes. Too bright lights. It took all he was to look into those impossibly beautiful, red-rimmed watery eyes. 

"Lance I lo--"

*   *   *

They won.

Ten thousand years of oppression had come to an end with that blast.

Allura and Coran clung to each other as they watched the waves of radiation wipe out the end of the empire.

Hunk stood as still as a statue. Tears streaking down his cheeks. 

"They were still down there," Pidge whispered as they collapsed to their knees on the cold floor. 

It took everything in Shiro to keep his intestines from emptying out his mouth. The bile was there, bitter and biting.

It was necessary. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. That's what they would say. He would be applauded. A hero. But only the people in this room would see it as it really was:  a choice.

A choice that was easier than it should have been. Cruelly quick and almost as thoughtless. He had the rest of his life to mourn. He hoped it wasn't long.

my whumptober masterlist

[lost-technology]

At long last! Survivor's Guilt - my "Rem Lives" AU, has been edited! The 18 chapters that exist so far have been given revisions - mostly small edits, but I fixed the ship-naming thing that had been bothering me (picked a lane on ship-naming, choosing numericals over spelled out numbers where I had typed them out as both / used them interchangeably before). I fixed some of the usual tiny typographical errors, but I also changed a few plot-relevant things in response to learning tidbits posted about Orange's direction and after some discourse / analysis / conversation on Trigun-general plot things here on the tumbles. I also did some things to make the story more internally consistent, as one does with subsequent drafts. Ah, now I can get to actually writing more of it again!

[sweet-cuddlebug]

An AU where Gamzee is freed from LE and he can now be better (derogatory) in the new world.

One of the consequences of now having to go through some sort of rehabilitation, still with the memories of what happened, also with a very small and perhaps unstable support system, is that he truly doesn't believe he deserves anything good or that he can be a 100% good person.

Every interaction he has with other people is riddled with guilt and self-loathing that he doesn't deserve to be spoken to, or forgiven, or even freed.

Every good thing he gets, or new achievement he has, comes with a big doubt about whether he truly deserves it, whether he's improved enough to, let's say, be able to walk along the beach admiring the sunset.

This will lead Gamzee to try to overcompensate for everything, no matter if anyone tells him or implies that he should.

Did you fail to stay at a social event for more than 30 minutes? Too bad, you can't drink smoothies until you do better.

Did you almost fight someone because they looked at you the wrong way and your insecurities got the best of you? Terrible, no more hanging out with Tavros 'till you do better.

Did you ruin Jane's kitchen and didn't even finish baking the pie? No more relaxing on the beach, do better.

No more warm baths, full nights of sleep, chats with Callie, snacks, painting, cuddles. No, you don't deserve them.

Gamzee tries harder and harder to "redeem" himself, while beating himself up for everything he, in his mind, does wrong.

And this obviously makes things worse because it's not like Gamzee is going to get better by depriving himself of things he enjoys, which causes him to keep "making mistakes" and therefore keep depriving himself of good things.

And all of this ends up culminating in Gamzee having a second mental/emotional breakdown (the first was after LE) and having to (maybe by force) confess everything to someone (I thought about it with Tavros but it could be another character he trusts).