#survivors guilt /

[martyr-inthedark]

Make your Whumpee tired.

Whumpees that have been deprived of sleep by Whumper, so much so that they don't remember how to walk in a straight line and can't figure out whether the recent appearance of little black bugs in their cell are real or a hallucination.

Whumpees that can't get a full night's rest. They doze off, only to be jolted awake by their own anxiety of not knowing when Whumper would come back. Perhaps they are awakened by phlegm-coated coughs induced by their illness. They are awakened by nightmares, or by Caregiver who is worried they may succumb to hypothermia, or by a thunderstorm, or the rough blanket scratching their open wounds, or so on.

Whumpees who pull all nighters to protect their friends or lovers.

Whumpees whose eyes burn when they finally can close their eyes. Whumpees whose muscles twitch, who can't stop yawning no matter how hard they try to stifle it. Whumpees with dark, glassy eyes. Whumpees who are slow to react or have a hard time keeping up with the conversation. Whumpees with throbbing headaches. Whumpees with brain fog and memory loss.

Whumpees who have been on the run and have over exhausted their bodies. Their muscles and joints continue to scream long after its over. Whumpees with extensive blood loss. Whumpees who are malnourished.

Whumpees whose survivor's guilt keeps them awake, wondering what they might have done differently, whether it was all their fault, or why they were the ones to live.

Whumpees whose bodies are in chronic pain or illness and who have to hide it, causing muscle and mental fatigue. They keep going with a smile until they collapse or pass out.

Whumpees who break down in tears, begging to be left alone so they can rest. Whumpees who sob when they are told that the bed in front of them is theirs to use whenever they want.

[valewritessss]

I just remembered how much guilt Annabeth must have from watching Thalia die protecting her, momentarily thinking Percy sacrificed himself for her at the arch, thinking Percy was dead for 2 weeks from blowing up saint Helen’s on her quest, Luke stabbing himself with her knife, and Arachne pulling her down to Tartarus and pulling Percy down too.

She must feel like they suffered because of her, and there’s no way she doesn’t feel guilty about that. Not to mention her stepmom made her feel like it was her fault the monsters attacked her and put her brothers in danger.

[owlygem]

Im trying to figure out some emotional scenes later in Escart, body language and expressions and so on surrounding Ben's trauma.

[jasmines-library]

Survivors Guilt

WHUMPTOBER DAY 9: ALT prompt: Survivors Guilt

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Summary: When jason dies after taking your place, you experience survivor's guilt.

Word count: 1k

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER 2024

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You should have died that day. His screams will forever be ingrained in your consciousness; whispering away in the back of your mind. Weaving their way through the cracks like a stubborn weed. You should have died that day, but Jason’s pleading to take your place was enough to satisfy the sadistic man before you. The way his eyes twinkled with a sadistic gleam made you feel sick. You have tried. Tried impossibly hard to get the Joker to leave Jason alone. Tried to tell them that you would take the torture as you were supposed to. But Jay was far too caring for his own good and his pleas to spare you amused the Joker more than you did. Your shreeks of terror and your desperate cries; the ones that ricocheted off of the walls satisfied the Joker. But they would never bring more of a grin to his face than watching the light leave Jason’s eyes. 

By the time Bruce arrived it was already too late. Jason’s heart had long stopped beating. But once they had untied you, they had to drag you away from his body to tend to your injuries. 

You didn’t sleep for weeks after that. You would often wake up in the night screaming for him. You couldn't so much as close your eyes without seeing him. It was like he was haunting you. A ghostly reminder that he died to save you. Because of you. That it should have been you. The guilt hung heavily over your head, weighing you down. And you began to change. It eventually got to the point where you practically refused to sleep. Or rather couldn’t. It was much easier to force yourself to stay awake than to Soon you became more withdrawn. You stopped making appearances at breakfast and dinner and it grew increasingly harder for anyone to find you anywhere other than inside your bedroom. Slowly, you began to lose interest in the things you were so interested in before. You didn’t have the energy to even think about doing them.

The other members of the family noticed of course. At first they had decided to give you some space, offering support when they thought you needed it. They knew they were grieving. They were grieving too. But as the weeks passed they slowly began to notice your withdrawn nature. They missed your lively presence and just seeing your face. 

Late one afternoon, there was a knock on your bedroom door. You tried to ignore it first. Hoping that you could pretend to be asleep and that whoever it was would go away. But then the knock came again followed by your name. 

You could tell that it was Dick on the other side of the door and from his tone of voice you knew he was worried. Of course he was worried. And there was just something about the way he said your name that forced you to get up out of bed and crack open the door. 

Dick seemed rather startled when you opened the door. Truthfully, he hadn't expected you to. But he wasn’t alone. Tim and Damian were with him. 

“Hey….” he said gently. “Do you mind if we come in?”

You hesitated for a moment but let them in reluctantly before shuffling onto your bed.

“Where you been, princess?” Tim asked you “We’ve not seen you. You doing okay?”

“Yeah…” you responded quietly. “Just been…….busy.”

It was a complete lie. You hadn’t been doing much of anything, you couldn’t bring yourself to. Tim frowned a little, but didn’t comment on the matter, instead he placed a hand on your knee, rubbing over the skin gently with the pad of his thumb. 

“You've been sleeping okay?” Damian asked you. The bags under your eyes were far from subtle. 

“...better.” You just answered shortly. That guilt still hung heavy above your head. 

“Good.” a sliver of a smile appeared on Dick’s face before it morphed into a sad look. “We’re worried about you, kid.”

“I’m fine.” You tried to dismiss them. 

Tim tilted his head at you. “You don’t have to keep it bottled up, sweetheart. Talk to us.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but your words failed you. You were scared to open up.

Dick squeezed your hand. “It's alright. Tell us how you’re feeling. We’re listening.”

“I…..it should have been me.” Your words cut through the silence. Honest. And brutal. Raw and real. “He begged him to leave me alone. And he–”

“Shh…” Dick tried to soothe you. “It’s alright. You're okay.”

“Its not okay! he died because of me!”

Damian shook his head. “No. Don’t think like that. Jason died because the Joker is sick.”

“He took my place!” You said. You were on the verge of crying. You could feel the tears prickling at the back of your eyes. They could see the guilt you were experiencing. 

“What happened was not your fault. You hear me?”

“I should have tried harder.”

“No. No sweetheart….” Dick shushed you. “You couldn’t have done anything. The Joker had his mind made up. No one could have done anything to have stopped him. But Jay did what he did because he loved you. Not because you didn’t try hard enough to stop him.”

That was what pushed you over the edge. The tears began to flow. Dick pulled you close to his chest, wrapping you up tightly in his arms as you wept. Tim ran his fingers gently through your hair as Damian laced your fingers with his and traced gentle, soft circles on the back of your hand. 

“Shh…we’ve got you…. It's okay ....”

The three boys held you close, reassuring you and letting you cry. 

“We’re here for you sweetheart.” Tim said. “We’re always gonna be here for you.

“We’re gonna work through this together, okay? It might take us a little while but that’s okay.” Dick explained to you gently. “We’re here for you, kid. Always and forever”

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<- DAY EIGHT ⛤ DAY TEN ->

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TAGS:

@hearts4robs @kingshitonly @alicedawitchbish @hell-o-kittys @azure-drag0ness @harleycao @thewhispersofthewaves @batfamsstuff @xxrougefangxx @rosecentury @noisymutantherelol @killxz @rhiodes @inlovewhithafairytale @that-wannabe-vangoghgurl @canthavetoomuchchaos

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[strnilolover]

NNN - matt sturniolo - survivors guilt

⚠︎TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠︎ : school lockdown, school shooting, guns, death, blood, life or death situation, witnessing death, traumatic experience, police involvement, nightmare/night terror, panic attack, use of y/n, detailed descriptions, and more.

⚠︎THIS CONTENT BELOW MAY NOT BE SUITABLE FOR SOME READERS. VIEWERS DISCRETION IS ADVISED. IF YOU ARE EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANYTHING IN THE WARNINGS PLEASE DO NOT READ OR READ AT YOUR OWN RISK⚠︎

Flashback • 3 weeks ago

Sometimes school was something you looked forward to. Not just because of the extra curricular’s you were in or because the school work was enjoyable — it was because of your friends and matt who were able to make the days more bearable even when they were the worst of days.

Today you arrived at school a little early, hoping to get some much needed studying crunched into your already jam packed schedule. While walking up the steps to the school, you spotted Matt near the main entrance with a few of your close friends gathered around him. His blue eyes landing on you, flashing a small smile and giving a playful wave. You quickened your pace, weaving through the students until you joined them.

You took your place next to matt, flashing him a grin. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” Matt teased, nudging you with his shoulder as you just rolled your eyes. “I could say the same for you.” you fired back, punching his arm lightly. His mouth opened, holding his arm as he gave you a faked hurt expression.

You smiled, turning your head to look at your friends. “Guess I’m not the only one who had trouble getting up,” you said, glancing around at your friends, who looked equally sleepy. “You guys ready for the most thrilling English class of our lives?” the sarcasm laced your words as you wiggled your brows.

One of your friends groaned. “Only if we get to hear Mr. Klein’s riveting analysis of metaphors again.” they said as their face scrunched up, sticking their tongue out. “I think i’d only be ready if Mr.klein just dropped all lesson plans for the day.” another one of your friends grumbled.

You all shared a tired laugh, your head now resting against matt’s shoulder as you somewhat cuddled his arm. It felt comforting to be surrounded by the people who knew you best, the ones who made every day a little easier. “I was going to get some studying in, but you guys have ruined my plans.” you pouted at matt and your friends, and they all laughed.

“Sorry baby.” matt said as his hand brushed against yours, lacing your fingers together as you started to walk through the front doors, your friends on either side.

As you walked, the usual chatter filled the air—the familiar sound of lockers slamming, friends greeting each other, and the echo of hurried footsteps as everyone rushed to their first class. The energy was calm.

“Think today’s the day we finally get a pop quiz?” Matt asked, giving you a sideways grin. You rolled your eyes — at this point they might get stuck permanently like that. “Oh, please, don’t jinx it,” you laughed, giving him a playful shove.

You all made your way down the hall more, but you quickly stopped at your locker. “Just go to class without me guys! i’ll be there soon.” you said to your friends, but matt had insisted on staying with you. Your hand fiddled with the lock, twisting to all the right numbers before popping open.

“So,” Matt started, shoving a hand into his pocket while the other came to rest up on the lockers. “since you couldn’t cram in your extra studying time this morning, why don’t we study at your place tonight?” he suggests, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth.

You hummed, grabbing a few books out of your locker before closing the door and securing the lock. “I dunnooo,” you drug out, turning to him as a hand reached out to pinch his side softly. “We’ll have to see if i’m in the mood to study tonight — and if my parents are okay with it.” you stated, head tilting to the side. He nodded in agreement.

The bell echoed through the halls signaling class was about to start. You and Matt both hurried down the hall to class, slipping through the door and sliding into seats beside each other, your few friends already in some seats around you. You were grateful to have them here, grateful that you didn’t have to face another long school day alone. Matt settled beside you, giving you a quick, reassuring smile as the teacher began to start class.

Once the class settled down, Mr.klein started taking attendance, calling out everyone’s name as they all said ‘present’ or ‘here’. “Okay class, today we’re going to start working on some group writing projects…” he started to explain some writing project but your attention was only half on him and more focused on Matt.

“I hate writing projects.” matt complains with a groan as his head tipped back before coming forward again and leaning toward you. Your eyes squinted, glaring at him. “Matt, babe — i’m always your partner for this shit cause you hate it.” you deadpanned, reaching your hand over to flick his arm.

He pouted, faking his sadness as he just grabbed his arm where you flicked him, you giggled before your attention shifted back to Mr.klein, listening to the instructions and taking down notes. Once he was finished explaining, you partnered up with matt, his desk moving flush to yours as you laid the plans out in front of you.

Class had been in session for about an hour now — yet you and matt couldn’t agree on a topic to write on. This always happened, he writing ideas were — okay, but this wasn’t supposed to be a goofy project. It was supposed to me serious and thought out.

You shook your head at another one of his statements. “No — no we should write about something that’ll resonate with people, not make them bored.” you argued, trying to explain to matt that writing about random shit wasn’t the way to go.

He opened his mouth, an argument right on the tip of his tongue — but was quickly cut off with the loud blaring of the intercom coming on, red lights already flashing brightly.

“Lockdown condition three, Lockdown condition three — lock doors, close blinds, barricade doors, turn off lights, take shelter.” the speakers blared, reds lights flashing and illuminating the whole room as they blinked.

You flinched, the loud sound being something you weren’t expecting. Your head turned to matt, a puzzled look on your face. “What is going on?” you asked, and all he did was shrug. You sat there listening to the speakers until another warning line was delivered.

“This is not a drill — I repeat — This is not a drill. lock doors, close blinds, barricade doors, turn off lights, take shelter.”

Your face paled, momentarily freezing as the realization hit you — that this wasn’t a drill. You sat there for a few moments, not registering that matt was trying to get you up. “babe — c’mon we have to help barricade the door-“ his words snapped you out of your daze and you nodded, shooting up your from your seat to close blinds and move things in front of the door.

The room was loud as furniture was moved and scrapped across the floor — you were frantic, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.

You put anything you could — desks, chairs, things that would keep the door closed and unavailable to get through. Matt was right there helping, along with your friends and classmates to get the job done as fast as possible.

Quickly everyone took cover in a far corner of the room, hidden away from sight from any door or window. Your body clung tightly to matt’s as the speakers repeated their warnings. Some students asking in hushed voices about what was going on.

Mr.klein hushed everyone, telling them he wasn’t sure and would let them know when he knew more information. Some students started to cry, texting families and some trying to be strong. Your friends were in the front of the group, quickly looking back at you as they all gave you small smiles of reassurance.

Everything was so piercingly quiet except for the light murmurs of classmates talking and the loud warning blaring from the speakers. Your head turned to matt as you leaned into him, “Do you think we’ll be okay?” you asked quietly. Matt just took a deep breath, “I hope so baby…i hope so.” was all he said.

You weren’t sure how long you were sitting crammed in the corner for with matt and everyone else — all there was, was this persistent ache in your legs from being curled up so tightly. It was still quiet, nothing had happened yet and Mr.klein still hadn’t said a word.

Suddenly, screams rang out through the halls outside the door, the unmistakable sound of gun shots being fired following the shrieks. Your whole body went ridged, flinching as your fists clutched matt so tight you thought you might break him. Your heart was pounding wildly — the pounding in your ears as the sounds got closer and closer.

The distant sound of sirens outside could be heard — but they weren’t close enough. You could hear the sound of fists banging on doors and walls outside before suddenly a loud bang was heard on your classroom door, the items piled toppling over as whoever was out there tried to force their way through.

Your classmates panicked, mumbling quietly out of fear. The teacher shushed everyone — bodies huddling closely together as the bangs continued. The door should hold, surely you piled so much stuff in front of it — but you were wrong.

Surely this isn’t how your life ends? You thought maybe this would never happen to your school — how selfish of yourself to think.

The loud banging continued — whoever was there was persistent on getting in here. You clutched to matt even tighter, tears now clouding your vision as you tried your best to stay calm. Matt’s hand rubbing your back in an attempt to ground you.

Then the door busts open and — everything happened so fast you weren’t sure how to react. Loud gun shots rang out — classmates piercing screams were loud as your eyes darted around until they landed on your friends. Time felt like it froze, switching to slow motion — watching as bullets were shot at them.

That was the last thing you saw before you were dragged down to lay on the floor. The bullets hitting other classmates — their blood splattering all over you as the shooter just fired shot after shot.

You were mortified, silent sobs leaving your mouth as matt’s hand covered it to keep you as silent as possible. Their limp dead bodies laid over you — covering you from the shooters eyes.

The sight of those bullets piercing their bodies — their faces, were permanently burned into your skull. The blood that spilled out, covering your body from near by classmates made you sick to your stomach.

The sound of heavy foot steps echoed the hallway, multiple bodies bursting in through the door as they shouted — police — but they were too fucking late.

Your ears were ringing, you couldn’t focus on a single thing. The only thing you could focus on was the faces of those you saw die — the blood covered faces of your dead friends. The police were still shouting around you, telling the shooter to drop his gun and surrender — another fire of a gun sounded before multiple others joined.

It felt like you were on the floor for hours before an officer came over to check on those who survived — that being you, matt and a few other people. Matt shuffled, trying to pull you up off the ground with him after the police moved those who were deceased off of you.

“y/n — sweetheart we need to go, we need to listen to the police.” he said softly, trying to get your focus on him. But you couldn’t, all your eyes were looking at still were your friends — you could have saved them, why didn’t you fucking save them?

You just stood there, eyes blankly staring at the ground where they were laying — your friends were laying. And if your mind wasn’t so focused on them, you would’ve seen the killers own dead body laying not far from you. But you weren’t — it wasn’t possible when you felt so ashamed, so — upset with yourself.

All you did was watch — you were the last thing they saw.

Your feet moved eventually, carrying you out the classroom and into the hallways as matt guided you. Even there your eyes couldn’t tear away from those who were dead — blood pouring out of their bodies, and splattered on the white walls of the school. You didn’t know what to feel — didn’t know how to feel, you still weren’t fully there.

You made it to the front entrance of the school, pushing the doors open — the blinding light of the outside world burned your retinas, or — at least that’s what it was supposed to feel like, but it didn’t.

When you were outside, families were waiting — multiple parents crying and scared, hoping and waiting for their babies to come out to them. Your own family was there, taking you into their embrace when you were finally able to see them. You wouldn’t let matt leave your side — you couldn’t. What if something happened to him too?

When you got home — still covered in blood, you immediately went to take a shower. The water was boiling hot, steam filling the bathroom as you rid yourself of your clothes. When you stepped into the tub, you took your loofa, pour ounce after ounce of soap on it.

Scrubbing your body over and over and over again until your skin had turned raw and red. Your own blood visible from how viscous you scrubbed yourself. From how desperate you wanted to be clean — to rid yourself of that burning memory in your skull.

You don’t know how many times you scrubbed yourself that night — loosing track until it hurt to scrub yourself any further, your hand eventually dropping the loofa as your body slowly slid down to sit under the shower head on the floor. You tucked in on yourself, curling up as your mind plummeted.

It should’ve have been you instead.

-

Present Time

The masked man pointed the gun directly at matt as his body stood between you and the killer, sacrificing himself to keep you safe. The man only laughed, moving it to point the barrel of the gun toward matt’s temple as he pulled the trigger. The loud ringing of a bullet firing ricocheted through your skull, making your vision unfocus.

When you came to — time had seemed to slow down. Matt’s eye’s widened, his body slowly falling to the ground.

You screamed as you watched matt’s body drop to the floor — blood pouring out of him as that same killer stood in front of you and your classmates. Your body trembling as your tried to wake him up, thinking it was just a dream before your eyes looked at the killer, the last thing you saw was his finger pulling the trigger at your head before everything went black.

You tossed and turned in your bed — and if anyone were to walk in right now, they’d see the discomfort etched into your face. Quickly your eyes shoot up, body shooting up in bed as a scream ripped past your throat, sweat covering your body as your fists clutched the sheets to your bed.

A door swung open outside before footsteps quickly pattered across the hallway, your door swinging open — matt rushing in to check on you after the blood curdling scream you let slip. His feet taking quick strides over to your bedside.

“y/n — y/n!!” matt said, grabbing your shoulders as he pulled you into a hug, his body lowering to the bed as he held your body tightly. Your limbs thrashed around in his embrace, screaming and kicking as the nightmare still clung freshly to your mind.

“N-no!! let go — let go!!” you screeched, your hands coming up to claw at him — but they were uncoordinated, not landing on him once as your mind continued to panic.

These — nightmares…night terrors — started happening ever since the shooting, most of your nights were sleepless as memories plagued every corner of your being. Matt hadn’t left your side since — seeing how much it had left you shaken, your family nice enough to let him stay in the guest room across from your room.

Matt just held you, squeezing his arms tightly in an attempt to keep you safe from yourself until your body tired itself out, holding you close and whispering comforting words into your ear. ���It’s okay baby, i’m here i’m not going anywhere.” he whispered, pressing a light kiss to your head as you shook.

You stopped thrashing your limbs, nails now digging into matt’s arms, leaving crescent shapes in the flesh. You sobbed, sucking in sharp breaths as you tried to speak.

“Y-you were gone — you d-died, he killed you. h-he killed me!” you choked out, fists now moving to grip his shirt tightly. “There w-was blood everywhere.” you cried, hot tears were running down your face as your breathing became more ragged and choppy.

The nightmares had gotten worse after you attended the funerals of the friends you lost — the services making everything feel too real, making you realize you actually lost them. It was too many someone as young as you should have to ever attended.

It’s your fault they’re gone.

Your breathing began to quicken more, your face hot and wet as your mind continued to spiral out of control. Your fists held him tighter, zoning out as you began to feel sick to your stomach.

Your chest felt tight — eyes frenzied and darting around. It felt like you were drowning, your tears falling harder now as you tried to regain control of yourself. You tried to speak — but all that came out were pained whimpers and sobs, your breath catching in your throat.

“y/n, i need you to focus on me baby, it’s okay.” matt whispered, pulling you into his chest, your head resting against his heart. “Listen to the sound of my heart love, focus on my breathing. I’ve got you, everything’s okay.” he continued, rubbing circles on your back as he rocked you back and fourth.

You strained to listen through your own heartbeat in your ears, rapidly pounding against your skull. It felt as though you would pass out any moment from lack of proper oxygen — but you tried, feeling the rise and fall of matt’s chest pressed against your ear and the side of your face.

Matt noticed your strained efforts, weakly smiling to himself as he looked down at you.

“That’s it baby, doing so good.” he cooed, continuing to rub your back as your breathing slowed down, your tears flowing less now. He could feel the rapid beating of your heart, it felt like it would jump out of your body if you weren’t careful. Your panic slowly subsided, exhaustedly melting into matt’s body.

Your breathing was still ragged, nose stuff from how hard you were crying — you had to breath through your mouth. 

He let out a long breath, calming his own nerves. He never knew how you would be after a nightmare or night terror — sometimes you were okay after a moment of him holding you, other times it was like this. Needing to calm your panicking mind in order to fall asleep again. It drained him — but you needed him, he wasn’t going to let you do this on your own.

When you pulled away from his chest, your eyes were red and puffy and tired, body still shaking from all the emotions coursing through your veins. Your mouth was dry and your head was pounding from how hard you were crying. Your hands let go of matt’s shirt, coming up to rub at your eyes and head.

“m’so sorry matt,” you started, voice cracking slightly. “didn’t mean to w-wake you again.” your voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible if matt wasn’t listening to intently.

He just shook his head, a hand coming up to wipe away some stray tears you hadn’t realized were running down your face. “Don’t ever apologize, this is something you’re dealing with — a traumatic experience you’re dealing with.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You shook your head, “I-I couldn’t save them matt.” you mumbled, sniffling. “they were right there and i couldn’t do anything to save them — i should’ve done something, what kind of friend am i?” you rambled. “F-fuck i couldn’t even save you.”

What if you cant ever save him?

Matt frowned, pulling you onto his lap as he situated himself in your bed. “It’s not your fault baby — it’s not your fault they aren’t here anymore, it’s the horrible person who decided to do what he did.” he whispered to you, holding you closely. His hand raked through your hair, tucking your head under his chin as he just continued to hold you.

You always thought about them — about how that day could have been different if you had just tried to do something to save those people you held close to you. But, the damage was done and here you were — wishing it was you and that they could still be here — you weren’t fast enough for them.

Eventually, matt got you calmed down enough to try and get more sleep, laying down in your bed and tucking you into his side as he encouraged you to try and sleep. “I’ll be right here when you wake up in the morning baby, i promise.” he reassured, holding you tighter — like you might just disappear somehow.

You listened, letting the exhaustion from crying and not enough sleep, pull you into unconsciousness for the night again.

When you had woken up in the morning, matt was right there next to you just like he said he would be. You smiled weakly to yourself — slowly pulling the covers back and moving out of your bed to head downstairs where you’re sure your parents would be at.

Before leaving your room, you looked in the mirror. You looked awful — dark circles under your eyes and your eyes red. Your hair was a mess and your clothes looked disheveled. You weren’t a pretty sight to see.

You walked out your bedroom door, feet softly pattering down the stairs and into the kitchen where you could hear your parents talking. Your ears picked up on a few pieces of their conversation, even though you know you probably shouldn’t be listening.

As you arrived in the kitchen, your parents attention was shifted to you — their eyes taking in your appearance. A look of worry crossed their features, but they didn’t say anything. After a moment, your mom was the first to speak. “Are you doing okay honey? we heard you last night…i’m still so sorry you’re going through this sweetie.” she said softly, gently walking toward you to wrap you in her embrace.

She pulled back, briefly looking into your eyes before she started to speak again. “So…we know your school has been closed for the last few weeks because of what happened,” she started, and somehow you didn’t like where this was going. “but — we just got news they’re reopening tomorrow for students to go back.” she said. Your face dropped at the words, eyes darting over to your dads before looking back at your mom.

Your head shook, “W-what? no…no! y-you expect me to go back there after — after what h-happened??” you quickly said, your body pulling out of your mothers embrace, the panic rising in your body at just the thought of returning to the same place that you saw your best friends be murdered at. Your parents just looked at you sympathetically, their eyes softening.

“We promise it’ll be okay y/n…nothing will happen again, you’ll be safe.” your dad stated, hoping that somehow his words would help calm you down. But all it did was make you feel worse — what if it’s me and matt next?

“y-you guys can’t make me!” you wailed, quickly turning away. You could hear your parents calling your name and trying to speak as you sped toward the stairs and darted back up into your room as you closed the door behind you.

Your back was pressed against your door, palms flat against the wood, your eyes closed as you tried to keep yourself calm. When you opened your eyes again, Matt was already sitting up in bed, his face twisting with worry as he saw your state.

“y/n? what’s wrong baby.” he asked, opening his arms up for you to slid into, which you did. Striding over to the bed and Sitting down, you leaned into him — his presence calming you slightly. “They want me to go back,” you started, voice straining as you held back your tears. “back to where my friends died — i can’t go back. i won’t.” you say, shaking your head as you spoke.

Matt’s face softened more, “you don’t have to go back baby, not until you’re ready — even if that takes a while.” he said, tugging you closer. You let out a sigh, trying to turn your head to look up at him.

“I will never be ready to face that place again. Not when all I can see are their faces and their blood whenever i close my eyes. They were right there, and I couldn’t fucking do anything.”

© strnilolover

a/n : part 2 to this will be posted after NNN is over <3

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[that-bitch-kat3]

i’m genuinely not sure if it’s more painful to imagine that Mary obviated herself or to imagine that she didn’t.

Because if she did, that means that she knew that her loyalty would never allow her to leave she knew that she would never be able to get away from her guilt, but she also knew she wouldn’t survive the war so that means she chose to erase this MASSIVE part of her identity to be able to move on and escape the grief and get out alive. but at what cost?

But if she didn’t?!? that might be worse. that means, she never escaped the grief. It means she has to live either knowing that all of her friends died and she wasn’t there or not knowing what happened at all.

Mary is such a fascinating character study because as the fandom perceives her (i say this cause we have no canon) she’s the only one who survived, and she still didn’t make it out unscathed. like no matter which way you slice it this poor girl was fucking traumatized, and she either literally removed a part of herself to get away or lives with the pain and survivors guilt, and that’s such an interesting way to view grief and pain. it begs the question is it better to have the memories that made you who you are even if they’re painful or is it better to forget? to cut your losses and move on?

mary macdonald they could never make me hate you

[violottie]

everyone, i beg you, keep Motaz in your thoughts and prayers. survivors guilt and the trauma he is still going through is horrific. i cant even fathom it but we can empathise with him.

Motaz's frustrations with the world that he is now living in after evacuating Gaza, are warranted, beyond warranted. he has every right to be angry at us after all he and his fellow journalists have suffered and died to show us. and its still happening.

the least we can do is keep protesting, keep boycotting and keep talking about Palestine. we must not stop. for anything.

[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.

[amethystfairy1]

"I don't think I need that...but thanks..?" - Ren, probably.

Todays whumptober prompt is up, cutting it close but I got it in! I hope you enjoy it!

[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.

[painsandconfusion]

Survivor's Aggression

Imagine someone who lost a loved one in a public accident. They're now tracking down and killing all the survivors.

Instead of the standard 'It should have been me', now we get 'It should have been you."

[eternal-cupido]

Wammy's Boys Headcannons

Mello

Clinical anger issues 100%

listens to bands like She Wants Revenge 

The song "Tear You Apart" by them as a person

plays video games with Matt in his free time 

is scared of something oddly specific like crickets 

trans man 

probably has some of the deepest rooted trauma/insecurities in the whole series 

Has the worst RBF you've ever seen '

After he abandoned Wammy's House he turned into a bit of a stoner (Mello I see you with those chocolate bars.)

inferiority complex

Near 

Autistic

Since they grew up idolizing L, they subconsciously began to copy a lot of his behaviors

Is the youngest of the Wammy's House trio

When it comes to toys they either prefer train/car type toys or girl's toys 

Non-binary or genderfluid 

Has severe texture issues when it comes to fabrics, and that why they prefer to only wear pajamas 

struggle's a lot with survivor's guilt

Matt 

He's a huge gamer and has been since he was young 

plays all kinds of video games, but prefers FPS

you can’t tell me this man doesn’t listen to hyper-pop or f-boy music

thinks he’s the shit 

really into AI, like this man is always making the dumbest deep fakes or playing around with it 

uses his knowledge of tech for chaos (putting traffic light settings a few seconds off type stuff)

[jellyvibes710]

I've made more fanart..

My two favorite kraang aus, I couldn't resist

Closer up

Kraang donnie and his pancake belongs to @abbeyofcyn

Kraang leo belongs too @le0tmnt

Their stories and art are amazing!! I highly recommend, 10/10 would read a dozen more times 👌

@abbeyofcyn it was so hard to make kraang donnie look aggressive haha, I hope he looks angry enough though

@le0tmnt hello ^-^= this is my first time doing fanart for you but your kraang leo was just so cool I couldn't resist anymore, I really hope you like it!

It killed my wrist but they were so fun to draw

le0tmnt AU here

Abbeyofcyn AU here

Bonus

[peridouu]

some art for a scene from my fic :)

[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.

.

[waywardsou2]

Do you think Omega ever sturggled with not feeling like enough? Like no matter how hard she tried she wasn't strong enough, or skilled enough, or smart enough. Do you think she felt to small or to weak or to timid? Do you ever wonder if she struggled with those things? Because she was a clone so it was in her nature to be a soldier but she wasn't taught how? (I wish I could tell her that she was good enough)

And did you think Wrecker blamed himself for not holding onto the rail car when Tech initiated Plan 99. Do you think he cursed himself for still not being strong enough, for not holding on long enough, for being to heavy that he couldn't get down the rail car to save Tech. That he lost his brother because he wasn't good at the one thing he was supposed to be good at. Do you think he thought about it before he went to sleep. Knowing it was his fault he had lost another bother. (It's not his fault and I would never blame him)