#i need to sit and dissociate

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

Petition to make it law that everyone who watches 911 gets the next day off work

[flowercrowngods]

i’ve decided to send an ask for each story you posted in the wip game kdnehdhs who did this to you? lives rent free in my brain 💛💛 (@a-little-unsteddie)

thank you so much 🥰🤍 still slowly working my way through the asks, so have a few more words to make up for the wait 🫶

who did this to you (pt.4) // tales of blue part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | read on ao3 🌷 preceding snippet no 1. | no. 2

Finally, finally, the familiar sound of Wayne‘s old truck rounding the corner into the trailer park interrupts the tense silence that seems to have fallen over all of Forest Hills tonight, and Eddie has half a mind to run out there, run toward them and get the whole story. Just to be sure that everything is fine. Just to be sure that Steve’s still… That he’s still there.

He stays right where he is, though, staring at Buckley‘s wild hair, feeling her shadow walk over him as Wayne pulls up to their driveway and stops. She is right in the centre of the headlights, but still she doesn’t move. Eddie wants to scream at her. Wants to nudge her and shove her out of the way — imagines it, imagines all the alternate universes in which he finds her wide eyes scared and unseeing as Wayne‘s voice sounds behind them, telling them that Steve didn’t make it.

Except in this one, Wayne said they’re coming home. In this one, shit like that doesn’t happen to eighteen year-old boys and their friends.

Aside from that girl. Barbara Holland.

Eddie swallows, his eyes flitting between bright lights to the silhouette of Buckley right in their centre. Like a doe, he thinks. Terrified of what she’ll find.

Don’t you wanna know? Eddie wants to ask her. Don’t you wanna see? What are you afraid of? What did you see? Who is he, Robin, and who are you? Why the fuck won’t you move?

In the end, it is the sound of a car door slamming shut that snaps Buckley out of her stupor, and she all but flies off the steps towards the truck. Towards where Eddie can vaguely make out the shape of a badly bruised face, the play of light and darkness not enough to conceal the deep purple splotches or the sluggishness of his movements as he raises his head. Turning toward Buckley like a flower to the sun.

She presses her hand to the window for a second, just looking at him — and Eddie is glad he can’t see either of their faces. He has a feeling that what he’d see there would haunt him forever.

[hauntingofthelamb]

things are really difficult before they get better right? so why has it been difficult for 7 years... when will it get better. I'm doing my best to stay positive as I know this will all work out in my benefit eventually but rn I'm so sad

[ozlices]

doctor apt was shit but the ladies at the desk were cool and set us up for a better, nicer doctor next month so. we'll see how that goes but i can say i've never been so fucking flabbergasted in my life at the bullshit coming from a doctor's mouth and with the amount of medical trauma we have that is seriously saying something.

[actual-changeling]

I think it is important to remember that while Ellie does not know many movies, songs, or other cultural aspects that existed before the outbreak, she is overall an incredibly smart and well-read person! She knows her science!

Yes, she will probably have no idea who Queen is but she isn't stupid. There is at *least* a high school level collection of knowledge in her head, probably more in some areas she is especially interested in.

Writing her as not knowing basic bodily functions or absolutely elementary science level info is not only inaccurate but also incredibly infantilizing, and the latter is already an existing problem based on ableist stereotypes that I have no interest in seeing exacerbated by people not putting more thought into their headcanons/writing. If people are interested or curious I can make a whole post on the age regression aspects of her cptsd and how to handle it responsibly and with grace, but tl;dr if you do not know how to write it without making real people who go through it feel like shit, don't do it.

You can do with the character as you want but as soon as you publicly share those headcanons you have a responsibility to not spread harmful misinformation or be offensive in any way.

[blitz0hno]

I don't want to get off my phone I don't want to stay on my phone I don't want to pump gas I don't want to do deliveries I don't want to get ready for bed I don't want to write anything of substance I don't want to create I don't want to not create I don't want to be here I don't want to go anywhere I don't want to move I don't want to stay still my brain and body seem to simply want to sit here and Yearn

[robinsnest2111]

okay yeah sorry, no art tonight. the cough has turned extra icky and painful and has been joined by a headache

I'll try my luck tomorrow 🤞

[thethingything]

I hate that we keep getting to about midnight and being like "okay I'm too exhausted to stay upright and my back hurts too much" and then accidentally falling asleep but then when we wake up a few hours later we're either just as exhausted or potentially feel even worse but our options are to either try and sit up anyway, or end up falling asleep again and getting a total of like 7 hours of sleep where absolutely none of it was actually restful

[shirogane-oushirou]

wah...

love to come back from an intense, angsty daydream like

anyway. baking something yummy for ren in my mind now. wrapping him in a warm blanket and handing him some hot chocolate. sjkdnfkjn.

[anadorablekiwi]

Anxiety and Depression both not ideal right now

[aropride]

Will never ever forget the time i was 16 and i opened up a bmc fic bc i was making my way thru the entire boyf riends tag (unsuccessfully, but i did succeed with another ship) and it was a fic about jeremy coping with ptsd by writing absurd amounts of fanfic and i dont think id ever felt that type of deer-in-headlights mirror-held-up-in-front-of-me feeling from a fic in my fucking life . i will be thinking about that forever.

[nowandevermore]

I hate quiet days.

Quiet days are great when your mind is always going a mile a minute. They're nice when you need a break from your brain.

They're nice when they're nice.

But quiet days bring more than just calm and relaxation.

Quiet days bring doubt.

And doubt brings questioning, and questioning breeds even more doubt.

Doubt if this is real, doubt if this has ever been real.

But the quiet days will end -- too soon for some, too late for others.

[the-acid-pear]

"that movie was shit" "it was we deserved" <- exchange with my dad.

[virtualmosshroom]

in a weird headspace

[goldkirk]

at least once a month I look up and go when the FUCK did I get a dog????? when the HELL did I get here? how did I end up in Seattle? what happened to my life? when did I get a DOG??????? why am I so shut out of my family? how did I mess things up? what carnage did I leave in my path? who said I could make decisions and move out here? why did I make a decision at all? What happened to me? How do I know any of this is right or safe? Why did I get a dog? Where are the kids? what caused me to finally leave? Why am I here? When did I flee? Why did I flee?

and then I remember who cares about the details if I’m feeling better here, and go merrily about my day knowing they’ll come back when they’re needed and someday the facts will stay.

[piplupod]

certain sense of uhhhhhh ominous je ne sais quoi to knowing parents return tomorrow ,,,, a feeling of ... shall we say,, doom?

sometimes i have a sudden realization of how insane this all is. like. how the fuck am i living through this. this is so genuinely wack. how am i surviving this, how is THIS how i live. i just wake up every day and deal with this ??? this has been my entire life??? i just... exist in a state of constant genuine feeling like a prey animal cornered in a cage, and there is not a way to stop that.

and i know many many countless other ppl exist in and are stuck in abusive situations and I'm not special for this, but i also know countless other ppl AREN'T experiencing this and won't ever experience this and all of that fucking makes me ill. nobody should experience this, but sometimes i get so /angry/ about how i was dealt this hand, and it didn't Have to be like this.

and other ppl get to use coping mechanisms and all the pithy platitudes that people throw around help, but I hear it and it's just like someone is handing me a kleenex to try to stop the flow of blood from an entire limb being torn off of my torso.

but then the disconnect haze settles back over me and I can be okay again (..... """""okay"""") and keep trudging along and not kill myself and be a decent person to be around. and then i wake up and go through it all again