#ptsd warrior

[borderlineangel222]

i live in constant fear of my own mind cause i dread the day it will come in terms with the fact that i’m indeed a monster just like my father.

[artistmugdh]

support artist here:

https://paypal.com/paypalme/mugdh

or below

[moonwaxwingangel]

PTSD files 2

Well you probably wonder where siren had came from it came from people like me who are PTSD  Warriors since the first World War to right now there has been sighting of siren had and countryside areas like let's say rural towns to war zones. These sightings are not very common but they only come out during war and pandemic and I know this for a fact because I have seen this information about siren head before he is not just a figment of Trevor Henderson's imagination as many people has complained about seeing the entity many times .

When someone was PTSD war related or terrorism related PTSD comes about and they see something that looks like siren head they length in the methos of siren head. Something that I have had the uneasy opportunity to find out of my own when I was driving out with a friend one day and saw the two signature sirens or an opposing sides of a pole above the tree line. This is what started me to do my own graphic novel about the shelterberts and  Sirenhead mixed together. The Shelterberts are a Canadian graphic novel that is very simple and hard but very beautiful nonetheless and I find that as is important to continue this on with siren head mixed in. As I continue I have published my first episode on web tunes if you're ever interested in looking it up call siren head. What makes siren head or James Bond a possible as the fact that people rather be creative instead of down in the dumps and feeling sorry for themselves when they have PTSD. Sometimes it's not that way usually and some people have no other choice but to feel sorry for themselves but in some cases there's a hardware OK you like me or Trevor Henderson or Ian Fleming who would go around enjoying creativity over destructive behaviour.

My mom had once I always always will and even though she is beyond the grave now will always encourage creativity over self-medication any time of the day. So that's why I created this graphic novel if you're ever interested as I said it's on the web toons. 

Until then be happy and  be safe

Elena Melanson a.k.a Elena Stargazer

[silvantransthranduiltrash]

Imagine a feanorian or a nolofinwean etc traveling back in time to the years of the trees-

And finwe, of all elves, clocks onto something being wrong before anyone else, bc he grew up in a time where it was killed or be killed and he wants to know why his grandkid(s) went from an elf who has never seen a day of strife in their life, to a hardened warrior with ptsd seemingly overnight.

[moomkin77]

Something that I think about a lot sometimes is how in SAO there’s this really interesting dynamic because (at least for that first season) these people all stuck in the game are literally war veterans by the time they come out into the real world again. But like, they’re coming out into the real world where before they were in a video game, and it’s just this concept of yes okay “it was just a video game blah blah blah” but like they were literally all fighting for their lives?? They witnessed people dying left and right all the time. And so having these straight up teenagers that were the military generals and front-line fighters just be dropped back into normal ordinary teenage lives - how do you even cope with that? How do you even begin to explain to your loved ones that yeah it might’ve been a video game, but it was a war front too, and 9 outta 10 people have got some sort of PTSD after escaping the game.

I dunno, I just have a lot of feelings about this and I want it to be addressed more because idk if they touched on it a lot in the show since it’s been a bit since I watched it and i never read the manga so- yeah.

Thanks for coming to my ted talk

[archerlullaby]

Hello friends! It’s been a long while since I posted, but here’s a piece based off of @kikker-oma ‘s incredible whumptober art! Go check it out!

Sky is tired. So tired. Tired of walking, tired of how his lungs burn when the forest grows thick, tired of how his callouses tore after the fifth time he raised it in battle today. Tired of—

“Pick up your feet Sky. By what Wild says, we won’t make it to Necluda if we keep going at this pace.”

Warriors pats him on the back and moves ahead of him without even so much as a glance. Sky closes his eyes in agitation but sighs his annoyance away. You’re the peacemaker. The peacemaker is calm. The peacemaker smiles. You don’t get upset with your brothers, especially when they’re just trying to help. “Sky! What’d I tell you? Hurry it up!” Warriors’s voice breaks through his calming mantra and Sky grits his teeth.

“Yes! Coming!” He picks up his feet, catching up with the group with a wheeze he hides in his sleeve.

The sun grows hot, and though the surface world of Wild’s land is beautiful, it seems to have a personal vendetta against Sky’s lungs. Having spent most of his life up in the Skyloft where the airborne irritants are few, this forest full of different flowers, trees, and grasses is a far throw from what his lungs are used to. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take long until he feels that oh-so familiar band tightening around his chest. He focuses his breaths, trying to ignore the urge to cough, to yawn, to do anything to get more air in his chest so that the group doesn’t catch on.

“If you’re having trouble breathing, Sky, you should loosen your sailcloth. It likely doesn’t help being tied around your neck like that,” Warriors says, shooting him a backwards glance as if to say “I can hear you choking on the very air you breathe, dumbass.” Sky smiles thinly and tugs at the knot, loosening it slightly. Obviously that wasn’t what he meant. Warriors is just trying to help, as always, Sky chides himself.

“Right as always, Captain. Thank you.”

“Hmmm,” Warriors replies, giving Sky a quick once-over with a raised brow before turning forward again. Sky grits his teeth, hanging back away from the group to gather his thoughts and squash the buzz of annoyance that has once again invaded his headspace.

Master, I detect a rise in blood pressure and slight emotional instability. I suggest you take a break.

Fi’s voice echoes in his head and, unlike the usual calming affect her voice has, it only serves to muddle his thoughts.

“Now’s not the time, Fi,” Sky mutters.

On the contrary, master. There is a high probability of both your physical and mental health deteriorating further if you do not rest soon.

Sky merely groans inwardly and puts his focus into making one foot go in front of the other, which would be a relatively easy task had Warriors not fallen back to walk astride him.

“Sky, I think we need to work a little on proper hand care. A warrior is only as effective with a blade as his hands are capable of holding it, and I can tell that yours are hurting,” Warriors chides gently. The buzzing in Sky’s head gets louder.

“I’ll keep that in mind, thanks,” he replies stiffly. Warriors huffs.

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“Now is not a good time, Wars.”

“Well, forgive me for trying to help you!” Warriors throws his hands in the air dramatically. “Listen. I’m just worried about you. I can tell you’re in pain, and I have a lot of experience with—”

Sky stops in his tracks, allowing the group to move ahead, leaving him alone with the other man. The annoyance that has been simmering all day suddenly ignites into something hotter. “Oh, and I don’t have experience?” He says, his voice low. Warriors looks at him with surprise, then rolls his eyes.

“Goddesses, Sky, don’t be ridiculous, you know that’s not what I meant. What’s with you?”

“What’s with me? What’s with you?”

Warriors opens his mouth to retort but Time’s voice rings out from ahead.

“It’s a dangerous place to fall behind!” Time says, the warning clear. Warriors gives one last look at Sky before turning on his heel and stalking back towards the group. Sky knew it was foolish to get in a fight over something so meaningless, but he was just so damn exhausted. He put a shaky hand to his chest and took a too-shallow breath. Can’t think straight. Can’t breathe right. Apparently I can't even take care of myself, according to Mr. High and Mighty, Sky thinks bitterly.

When he finally gathers himself enough to continue walking, the group is far enough ahead to where he can’t discern who is talking. Unease shoots through him and he begins to jog to catch up, but doubles over in a fit of coughing in just a few measly steps. When it finally subsides, he wipes the spittle from the edges of his mouth with one hand, his other supporting himself on his knee. With a groan of exasperation, he tries to blink away the spots in his vision

Master, behind—

“SKY!”

Sky looks up blearily to see Wild sprinting at him with a familiar glint in his eye just in time for a spear to imbed itself into the ground less than six inches from his boot. He has the right sense to throw himself to the side just as a Lizalfos’s tail sweeps the air right where his legs were a moment ago. Still recovering from his coughing fit, he wheezes as his hand reaches for the Master Sword, easily pulling the blade from the sheathe but not without throwing him off balance as he backpeddles away from the long reach of the monster’s spear. He lands on his back on the forest floor, bringing the sword up to defend himself best he could as the Lizalfos jumps on top of him.

Before it could complete its attack, a blur of royal blue body slams the creature off of him, both figures tumbling to ground with a thud. Twilight is not far behind, pulling Wild up with a single hand as the duo faces off with the creature. A hand tugs Sky up to his feet.

“Are you injured?” Time’s steady voice cuts through the air. Sky merely shakes his head, turning to help Twilight and Wild, but finds that the two have already dealt the final blow. Wild flicks his sword expertly to clean his blade, a grin on his face as Twilight glowers at him.

“Seriously? You have almost every weapon in the books and yet you still choose to tackle it?” Twilight baps Wild upside the head before chuckling. “Black-blooded too? You’re a maniac.”

Sky shoots Wild a shaky smile.

“Thanks, champ. I was in a bad way,” he says quietly. Wild merely shrugs.

“Sure thing. Also, we should keep moving. Where there’s one, there’s more,” he replies, before pointing and walking back to the path. “We’re only about an hour out. We can get to a safe part of the woods before the sun sets.”

The group follows Wild and Sky falls into line, acutely aware of how Warriors has not said a single word through the entire ordeal. The adrenaline wears off, leaving Sky feeling worse than he was before.

Just as Wild promised, they reach a clearing just as the sun touches the horizon. With a groan, Wind drops his pack and flops onto the ground.

“Ughh! My feet are falling off!” Wind exclaims, voice muffled by the grass. Sky watches as Warriors approaches the youngest and laughs, squatting beside the boy and ruffling his hair.

“Oh, come on, sailor! You could’ve asked me to carry you! Or we could have slowed it down a bit!” Warriors grins down at Wind.

Outrage. Slowed down a bit? Anger shoots through Sky as he hears Warriors continue to talk to Wind. Where was that sympathy when I couldn’t breathe? When he knew I was struggling?

Master, your heart rate has jumped to 115 beats per minute, an increase of 64.23 percent from two minutes ago. Sitting down would be a logical course of action.

“Yes. Yep. Sitting down, thanks Fi,” Sky makes out through gritted teeth. Taking off his armor and setting the Master Sword aside, he does his best to breathe. Rolling up his sleeves, he basks in the cooling air. He sits with eyes closed, face towards the darkening forest, listening to the sounds of the coming night, the crickets chirping, the frogs croaking. All is well. All is well and you are calm. You are the peacemaker…

“—Do not believe he should take watch tonight. I am not confident in his line of thinking right now,” Warriors’s voice cut through Sky’s meditation. Sky’s eyes snap open as he tunes in to what was clearly supposed to be a private conversation. Not confident?

“Can you check on him?”

“Time, I don’t think that’s a good idea. He clearly wants to be alone, and to be honest, I don’t feel like holding a conversation with him right now.”

“Warriors—”

“Don’t, Time. He’s been off all day, and there are already tensions between us. And with that stunt he pulled earlier? I already told him once to catch up. His lackadaisical actions could’ve gotten people hurt, or worse. Something has to change. I’m trying to figure out what to do with him.”

Sky heard Time say something in return, but the anger that had clouded his mind blocked it out. He rose slowly, turning towards the two with rage written across his face. Time notices him first and places a hand on Warriors’s shoulder.

“What to do with me?” He hisses, stalking towards Warriors.

“Sky—” Warriors starts, tugging out of Time’s grasp.

“What to do with me?” Sky stops nearly chest-to-chest with the other man. “What am I? A child?”

“No, Sky, that’s not—”

“Or maybe I’m one of your soldiers that you can command? Is that it, Captain?”

Warriors’s gaze darkens. “Well then, maybe, if it would help you get your head out of the clouds, perhaps it would be best to start thinking like the knight you are, Skyloftian,” he replies.

Sky was breathing hard, his wheezing starting to come back. Fi chimes from where he left her, but he ignores her warning. “You have been on my ass all day! There is no doing anything right with you is there? Because you’re always so perfect!”

“I’ve been helping you all day, because you clearly need it! Maybe you should use that head of yours to listen!”

“I don’t need your help!” Sky’s voice has risen, drawing attention from the others. Time merely stands aside with crossed arms, electing to let the two men settle their differences. “I don’t need you to tell me how fast to walk, I don’t need you to tell me how to take care of myself, I don’t need your two-sense on if I am capable of standing watch or not!”

“Is that so? Then explain to me how you got yourself trapped under the spear of a Lizalfos if not for you and your lack of ability to think for yourself?” Warriors spits.

Rage makes Sky’s mind go blank. He shoves the other man before gathering his tunic in his fist, pulling Warriors towards him, their faces mere inches apart. Sky could feel angry tears burning his eyes, and he was angry, so angry, and so, so tired.

“I’m getting real tired of you treating me like the village idiot, Captain!” Sky snarls.

Warriors’s hand wraps easily around Sky’s wrists, pressing bruises into the skin as he leans forward, his face red with anger. “You are way out of line, Chosen,” he snarls and yanks on Sky’s arm, which doesn’t budge. “You need to step back before I make you.”

Chosen? I’ll show you chosen, is Sky’s last conscious thought before he raises his lips in a snarl.

“Make me.”

M-STR…N-ED…TO…CA-M…DOWN!

Fi’s voice rings and reverberates in his head, but he chooses to ignore it as the hair on his neck and arm rise, the buzzing in his head deafening. He fails to see how Warriors’s eyes change from anger to fear, or how he tries to pry Sky’s fist from his tunic. He is aware of yelling, and then Warriors is ripped from his grip and a strong pair of arms is encompassing his chest. A sharp pop fills the air, then silence, and the next thing he knows he’s gazing up at a sky full of stars, something hard at his back. There is an odd energy in the air, and it smells of ozone. Ozone? Oh…oh no. Oh no, no, no, what have I done?

“Ow.”

A voice in his ear snaps Sky out of his panic. “Time?”

“That’s me,” Time’s voice replies.

Sky scrambles off of him and turns, his hands ghosting over the other man.

“Did…did I burn you anywhere? Does your head feel okay? Oh, I’m so, so sorry!” Sky exclaims, tears springing to his eyes. Time merely chuckles from where he lays on the ground.

“I’m fine Sky. But maybe I won’t wear my armor next time you call electricity forth from your person,” he says with a wince as he sits up.

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I really—”

“Sky.” Time stands and grabs him by the shoulders. “Don’t apologize to me. Gather yourself, and when you’re ready, go to Warriors. I believe a calm conversation would do you good. As adults.” Sky nods. Time looks at him skeptically. “And I reiterate, as adults,” he says again, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes, I understand,” Sky murmurs, “Thank you.” Times nods and moves away, gesturing at the others to go about their business. Warriors is nowhere to be seen.

Sky makes his way over to his space, laying out his sleeping roll, gently refusing the food Wild brings to him (until Wild shoves it in his face with an unsettling glare), and apologizes to Fi for not heeding her warning. She chimes quietly in response, never one to hold a grudge. After several hours into the night, Sky still can’t sleep despite Fi’s gentle plea to get some rest, so he stands and searches the camp for Warriors. Legend, who is on watch, glances at Sky then simply juts his chin towards the edge of the camp, towards a large stump at the woodline. Sky smiles his thanks.

Gathering his courage, Sky walks towards the stump. On the other side, he can see the top of a blond head and a familiar blue scarf. Sky pauses just before reaching the stump.

“May I…join you?” Sky asks softly. Warriors merely gestures a spot next to him on the grass. Sky settles next to him, and they sit in silence for a while until Wars breaks it.

“So. Lightning,” he says. Sky winces inwardly.

“Oh…yeah. It’s a long story,” he replies, “And not a very happy one, unfortunately,” he adds quietly. Warriors nods understandingly. Silence again.

“Warriors—”

“It’s okay Sky.”

“No—”

“I should be the one apologizing to you,” Wars finally turns and faces him, regret in his eyes. “I was insensitive. Uncaring. I knew that you were being hurt by my words and I didn’t stop.”

Sky shook his head. “I was too lost in my own emotions to see that I was losing control. I almost hurt you out of anger. I hurt Time,” he sighs, resting his head in his hands. “You’re right. Sometimes I am too undisciplined to call myself a knight.”

Warriors shoves his shoulder. “None of that. We all have our moments. Yours wouldn’t have happened had I not been such a moblin-headed idiot,” he declares. “But truly. I am so very sorry, Sky. I was on edge already from traveling in Wild’s world and I took it out on you.”

Sky nods. “Thank you. And I’m sorry as well. For almost, you know…”

“Electrocuting me?”

Sky nods again.

“Eh. I deserved it,” Warriors chuckles. A smile pulls at the edges of Sky’s mouth and they fall into a comfortable silence. Warrior’s arm falls across Sky’s shoulders and he pulls him into a hug.

“You’re still my brother. You know that?” Wars mumbles into Sky’s hair.

“And you’re mine,” Sky replies softly, melting into the embrace as tears prick at his eyes for the third time that day. “I love all of you to death,” he adds.

“Yeah, we’re pretty great, huh?” The other laughs quietly, Sky chuckling in return.

They stay like that for a long while. The night grows colder and the moon is high in the cloudless sky, the stars dancing far above the canopy of trees below. Sky feels his eyelids grow heavy, the warm embrace lulling him into sleep until Warriors nudges him to sit up.

“You should go back to your bedroll and get some real sleep. I know you’re exhausted,” he tells Sky.

“Dn wnna mve,” Sky mumbles in response.

“Huh?”

“Try to move me again and I will strike you with lightning,” He says, cracking an eye open and glaring halfheartedly at Warriors, who laughs in response.

“Alright, alright! Sleep well, Sky,” he whispers. A beat. “And for what it’s worth, I love you too. You lot are the best family I could ever ask for.”

Sky smiles, pulling the soft fabric of the scarf over his shoulder, and falling into a dreamless sleep.

[roostertuftart]

Evil elven Kyle based on an rp with @erratic-brainrot :]

[crazylittlejester]

adding to the list from earlier I said about things I believe could send LU Warriors into a coma or just kill him directly: The whole James Charles/Shane Dawson/Jeffree Star thing. Like not just the controversy analysis videos, all of it. The actual drama and watching it in real time. The mere idea of everything that went down would probably put him in a coma, and the Jeffree Star apology video with the expensive ass couch would send him to the grave immediately

that being said i think he and legend would together go through and rank a bunch of youtuber apology videos and keep the list accessible for years and years so they can always go through and add all the new ones that come in

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 7: Suffering in Silence

Ao3

CW for PTSD, referenced injury, and unresolved interpersonal conflict

--------------------------------------

He needs sleep. 

Warriors stares into the water-speckled restroom mirror and sees nothing. Blurred shapes are all that are there, forms and colors he knows make up his visage. But his sandpaper eyes have turned them all indistinct. 

He is borderless now, as shifting and immaterial as he feels. Brush against him and he will simply float away.

Or sink into the depths that call him. 

Taking a deep breath, he scoops a palmful of water onto his face. Its icy frigidity does little to awaken him. He is too far gone for that now. 

Movement. Thought. They are nearly impossible. Have been all day.

Perhaps, that is why he had lost it earlier. Perhaps, that is why, the infallible, optimistic captain had simply…snapped.

His breath hitches unexpectedly. Trembling legs give way, depositing him on the tiled floor. Warriors brings his hands up and digs his palms into his eyes, fighting against the searing bite of oncoming tears. 

Damn it. Keep it together, captain. You already fell apart once, don’t do it again…

His hands curl into fists. Fingernails dig mercilessly into calloused flesh.

Wild’s words still echo in his mind, a terrible weight he is almost certain he lacks the strength to shoulder. 

Even a spirit of courage isn’t mighty enough for things like this.

Hurl him into hoards of squealing beasts. Send him hurtling through time and space. Drop him in the midst of situations he struggles to even comprehend. Take those he loves to a place he cannot go himself. Tear his body apart until there is nothing left. 

He can handle all that. He was built to handle all of that. 

But to strive so hard, so long only to hear that cursed shout…

“I hate you!”

The deathly chill that has gripped him since the fight (the one that had closed him off from the hero shouting in his face, that had turned his gaze dull, his expression stony, filled his mind with cotton so he could neither think nor feel…and had ignited Wild’s ire further) cracks and shatters into one million pieces. Pain cleaves through the exhausted numbness. A sob rips through his throat.

He’s heard worse. Far greater accusations, far worse insults have been spewed at him with fury and revulsion. Screamed at him as fists and feet connected with bone and muscle; shouted as blades ate away at flesh and cloth.

His own men had called him a traitor to Hyrule. The people he fought to protect had dubbed him a murderer. 

It hadn’t hurt as badly as this.

Warriors lets his head fall back against the wall. Hot tears glide down his cheeks, streaming down his neck to skitter beneath his collar. 

He hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. He hadn’t meant to break. But the sleepless nights had only continued since Twilight’s brush with death. The tasks hadn’t stopped piling up. The troubles hadn’t stopped parading through.

(The memories had kept coming, hounding at his every step, haunting his dreams, stealing the breath from his lungs. Memories of death and loss. Of betrayal and heartbreak.)

The latest battle had just been too much. Especially, when Wild had disobeyed orders yet again, hoping to catch the Shadow before he could streak through another gateway. 

Normally, Warriors would have held his tongue until he found the best wording for a rebuke. Normally, he would’ve dealt with the situation calmly, firmly…kindly.

But he had been so, so tired. 

Even now, he longs to fall into the plush embrace of a heap of blankets. But sleep was impossible out there where he could feel their eyes on him, hear their murmured conversations. He couldn’t-couldn’t see their faces a moment longer.

Warriors hadn’t even allowed himself to dwell on their expressions. Sorrow, shock, judgement, pity — he had identified them all in the split seconds he’d had to look over his friends.

His brothers.

The lump in his throat burns. Warriors swallows against it. 

He will have to come out soon, stone-faced and determined. He will have to face the repercussions of everything that has happened with a brave front.

He will have to force down the emotions churning within him, the hurt boiling up. 

He has suffered in silence for a close to a week now. And it’s not as though he isn’t skilled at the art of constructing facades by now. At times, the mask feels realer than his true face.

So, really, what’s a little longer for the sake of tentative peace?

Though, what kind of peace can be struck when one person despises the other?

He chuckles, harsh and wet. The sound is hardly audible over the never-ending rush of the water that cascades from the faucet.

Shut it off, the soldier within him shouts. Resources must be preserved.

Warriors doesn’t budge from his place on the floor. 

If he had obeyed his instincts, however, he might have heard the sound of a hand on the doorknob, a pick in the lock. 

Wind shimmies into the bathroom with shocking stealth. At the sound of the door clicking closed, Warriors startles. Instantly, his hand flies to his boot, seeking the dagger nestled against his leg. But then, his gaze lands on the sailor, standing mere feet from him, expression screwed up in worry. And he lets his hand drop to the floor.

“Goddesses, sailor,” he breathes, “you almost gave me a heartattack. Trying to put me in an early grave?”

Wind slips down beside him, shoulder pressed to the captain’s.

“Sorry! I just…” He looks down at his hands, clasped atop his lap. “...I didn’t think you were actually taking a bath in here. That would’ve been a really long one if you were.”

Warriors chokes out a chuckle. “Wouldn’t be out of character for me though, would it?”

Wind shrugs. “People don’t go bathe after a fight. I know I never do when Aryll and me argue.” 

The ceiling smears further into combined shades of emerald-blue. Warriors clears his throat. The suffocating tightness doesn’t lessen.

“‘M sorry you had to hear all that, sailor,” he croaks. “I shouldn't have snapped.”

Wind is quiet for a long thread of moments. When he speaks again, his voice is small. His words, however, are firm, confident. 

“Wild didn’t mean what he said, you know.”

The ache in Warriors’ chest pierces deeper and spreads like a blot of ink on silken cloth. 

Right when he thought this day couldn’t get any worse, now the sailor is trying to comfort him.

…as he mopes on the bathroom floor.

How far can you fall in one day?

Pretty far, it seems.

He shakes his head, hoping the sound of his hair brushing the wall behind him will cloak that of his shuddering breaths.

“Wind, you don’t have to — ”

Wind scoots closer and wraps his two arms around Warriors’ one.

“It’s true! Wild said some really bad stuff but…he was just angry at the Shadow. And…scared.” Large orbs the color of the Great Sea gaze into Warriors’. “Like you.” 

The captain is quiet, allowing that a moment to sink in. Or, perhaps, to merely settle on the tower of wavering feelings stacked within him.

He’s so tired. (How many times has he thought that now?) If he closes his eyes, the weight hovering atop him will plummet, dragging him down with it.

More tracks of salty water scurry down his cheeks, bringing warmth to his chilled flesh. 

“You’re gonna have to talk to him, you know,” the sailor continues, voice just audible over the continued downpour. “Wild can be an idiot sometimes, especially when he feels bad. He’s gonna wanna talk about what happened but…he probably thinks you hate him now.”

That hardly makes him feel warm and fuzzy inside. But Warriors knows he’s got a point. 

Some people reach outward when regret has them by the throat. Wild has already lashed out. Now, his only option is to go in.

And when that happens, even the rancher can hardly drag him out.

Good to know luck is on my side, snarks the spiral of self-pity. 

Warriors drags in a breath and swallows a mouthful of tears.

“Yeah, you’re right,” he hums. He coaxes his arm out of Wind’s grasp and wraps it around his slight shoulders, pulling him close. “You’re a smart kid, you know that?”

Wind giggles, softly. “Yeah, I know.” He pauses. “And I know you and Wild are gonna be okay. You’re brothers! Siblings always make up, trust me!”

“You’ve got a lot of optimism, sailor,” Warriors whispers. 

Silence glides in on the tail of his words. It settles, heavy and hyptonizing over the small space. Warriors allows it to reign for a while. 

The days of stress and exhaustion have fully caught up to him now. Frazzled, devastated thoughts slow, bumping lazily against one another. He stares ahead of him and lets everything disappear behind a film of sorrow and fatigue. 

“Hey, Wars?” Wind’s voice is a bit louder now, but hesitant. Gentle. “I love you.”

Warriors’ eyes slide closed of their own accord. He doesn’t bother to drag them open again.

“Love you too, sailor,” he murmurs and every word is laborious to utter. “Love you too.”

[is-your-blorbo-neurodivergent]

do they have ptsd?

submit your own characters here to be featured!

reason: When I mention every PoV character, I mean Every. Single. One. - Main Series Protagonists, Super Edition Protagonists, Novella Protagonists, Graphic Novels etc.

These PoV cats and their Clanmates are literally going through multiple battles, multiple illness crises, losing multiple of their loved ones, being manipulated and/or used by a higher afterlife power, and/or living through multiple major historical events within the Clans that they live in throughout their lives.

There’s NO way that these characters don’t have (at the very least) SOME sort of extreme trauma from something occurring within their lives.

[artistmugdh]

Hola, A Soundous New Year 🥳🥳 To Everyone.. A many many heartfelt thanks 🤩 to the 🌈 Family and 🌈 gatherings. Much love ❤️ to all the 🌈 brothers and 🌈 sisters, amazing travellers, & beautiful souls 🥰🤗 I really wish for every light 🌟 among the colours of rainbow & world 🗺️ alike, to keep shining like a star 💫 that we all are. As the new moon of this new year rises, with your blessings 🙏 , wishes🧞‍♂️, for our collective happiness 🙃 and joy 😂 and as a mark in the history of our physical world, i start my journey to show the world “What 🌈 is ?” Before diving into this life-travel-living photography-art project; my hearful thanks to 🌈 Brother Dimeth for the invitation into the family. Love you bro 👊🫶😘 for that Im still experiencing, understanding and living in the RAINBOW energy. While being in the process of building my own essence of existence with the life itself; i share the photographs and the serene inspirations that came along exploring the extents of my natural instinctive clicks 📸. Trusting my hands, my own creativity, feeling you, them & myself & us and the art itself as such. Here is the trust put in me by the beautiful 😻 🌟lights : .

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My Friend Shurya 🌞 😘🥰✨🌈🥳🌞 See you in 5! —Okasy zhok Hakuna Matata 😀 Soul : Mohit Ichko Artist : mugDh 🌈 Mug Ps. This photography-art project is also an answer to how rainbow gatherings happens. Its with people. And through my stories behind each wonderful rainbow feature; sharing the moments we shared in marking each click as a split in time where our consciousness ceased to oblivion of how it may be perceived. PERFECTION!

ps- ps- “Go and experience a rainbow gathering which happens from new moon to new moon. Travelers from all over the world go there. You will see the life there.” That's the way i was introduced to 🌈

Direct artist support here: https://paypal.com/paypalme/mugdh

[batrogers]

Inspired by @crazylittlejester's Wars headcanons, which intersect a lot with my own issues with food so of course it stuck with me.

Content warning for discussion of a very broken relationship with food/implied restriction, but I like making things a little hopeful and sweet.

Twilight & Warriors LU fic, rated G, approx 1000 words.

Also on AO3

IIII

Twilight set up to make dinner, as he had a hundred nights before for the group, with about twenty minutes of that being debating what to make with Wild, which one of them was going to be in charge tonight, and then getting the ingredients out of Wild’s slate before he settled to clean up and start. It was his favourite chore, if he was honest; he loved cooking when Wild let him, and after how long they’d been together Wild often was content to help rather than lead. He got distracted a lot, and liked the chance to get up and wander, and after one too many “What if” ideas, the others preferred it, too.

It was around when Wild wandered off to see what Hyrule and Wind were doing that Twilight saw Warriors crack his neck at the far side of the fire and stand up. He turned and started walking away himself and Twilight froze.

Had he ever seen Warriors leave the fire when he was cooking? He didn’t think so. His mouth twitched. “Leaving already?” he joked. “I’m gonna miss the company.”

Warriors startled, then turned and laughed. “What, you liked me just hanging around staring at you?”

“I don’t care,” Twilight admitted. “Although in Ordon I’m used to the company. I've just gotten so used to you watching the whole time it’s strange to see you go.”

To his surprise, the other man walked around the fire and touched his shoulder. “I think if you haven’t poisoned me after four months, you’re not going to. I don’t think Wild would either, at least on purpose, but...”

Twilight automatically responded to the second with, “He’s only done that once,” before the first part finished processing. “You thought I might poison you?!”

The hand almost left his shoulder, then squeezed it before its owner dropped to sit beside him. Twilight turned to stare, but Warriors couldn’t quite meet his eyes or answer him. Twilight stared at his hands again and tried to think back – he knew at some point in the first two weeks they’d been together, Time had talked to Warriors although not what about. That was when he’d started watching him cook.

Had he ever eaten with them before that? Twilight didn’t think so. When Wild cooked, Warriors usually asked him for something to make himself and...

“Something happened during the war?” Twilight guessed, when Warriors hadn’t spoken.

“Very early in the war,” he agreed. He looked around the nearly-empty fire, but most of the others were napping, training, or getting up to something else. “Impa had taken me on as her protege and – literally within two weeks of losing the castle, I fell.... very ill. I almost died; if we hadn’t been staying with the Sheikah, I likely would have. And within days of pulling out of danger, I was sick again before they could find out who was doing it.”

Twilight swore and narrowly missed cutting his finger as he cut up the onions in front of him. He shook himself and sighed. “Shit. That fucking....” He couldn’t think of a strong enough word.

Warriors snorted quietly. “I’d be sick after eating anything after that, for another two weeks until Impa figured out a strategy to make me not... Not panic at the thought. Fairies can detect most poisons, so I started coaxing them to stay close, and the rest of the time... If I didn’t make it, or Impa didn’t vouch for it, I just.... didn’t eat. Add that to rationing, and I made more than a few people scared for my health the rest of the war.”

Twilight didn’t comment that he’d honestly talked to Time about how he looked now. Warriors still was one of the skinniest among them, although Twilight had just assumed it was his natural body type. But to hear the rest was.

“I don’t mind you watching me,” he said, because what else could he say?

“I’ve appreciated it,” Warriors said, softly. “Time caught me not eating and reminded me we had to trust each other. It was... hard.”

He’d never watched anyone close enough to see if the risk of Warriors being too nervous to keep food down had come up now, Twilight supposed, and he wasn’t going to ask now. But it was tempting. He dumped the chopped onion into the pot and started on the wild garlic, feeling his eyes with more pressure than before.

Was it clean enough? Did he think his food was safe?

Cooking for the village children meant a lot to him; he was always careful about that, because making one of them sick was his worst nightmare. But it didn’t feel the same as the importance of realizing Warriors trusted him in the face of something that’d almost killed him before too.

Just as vital, but nowhere near the same.

“Thank you,” Twilight said. He swallowed until his eyes didn’t burn. “For trusting me. Is there anything else...?”

Warriors snorted, hard. “Just warn me if Wild tries to talk you into anything weird if I walk away. Alright?”

Twilight turned and caught his eyes before he nodded, not letting the lightness in his voice belie the fear he could see there. “I promise. No surprises here.”

“Great. I’m gonna go find the river and bath, then.” Warriors stretched his jaw and stood, squeezing Twilight’s shoulder as he walked away, his light tone at odds with the tension in his back.

Twilight would chase Wild off with the spoon if he had to to keep that trust.

[closetdbisexual]

if he wasnt a misogynist i would like him so so much

[crps-chronicpain-ptsd]

Chronic pain problems •

[bokettochild]

Memorial

Hey everyone! Happy Memorial Day! (what's left of it)

As many of you may know, Memorial Day is a day to remember our fallen soldiers and those who served, and, well, I just couldn't resist making a little something for it.

Not all soldiers see this day with pride. Not all heroes and veterans make it to a time they can enjoy the celebrations of their victory, and some never enjoy the celebration.

As the daughter of a soldier, I've seen some things; hiding indoors at the sound/sight of fireworks, not handling loud noise well, being worried easily for those they care about, There's a lot our armed forces suffer, so please be sure to give them your respect, regardless of the day, and support them in any way you can, even if it's just by setting off your fireworks away from where they live so the sounds don't trigger them.

So! Without further ago!

The fic!

  -

  It's cold. 

  Warriors shivers as a breeze whispers past but he doesn't move from where he sits. 

  He can't. 

  Rather, he won't. His soul screams to stay still and though its sound is nearly lost amidst every other scream that floods his ears, he still hears it well enough to know to stay. 

  It's not like they'll let him leave anyway. 

  His brothers hadn't known, when they came across the ruins and open field, that this has been a place of battle. Twilight, suggesting that they make camp here, couldn't feel the latent energy of not yet departed souls. None of them could. 

  He’d tested, asked in his own roundabout way to try and divulge the truth from the others; could they see spirits? Not just gibdoes and wraiths and the like; all heroes could see those to an extent, it came with the job. Spirits though? The souls of the dead but not departed? It would seem he and he alone had been cursed with such sight. 

  And what a curse. Even now it howls in his ears. Cool, cold, freezing fingers brush and snatch at him, unable to truly grasp, too dead and too weak to cause physical pain, but they hardly need to do so when their presence is enough to make his soul howl in agony. 

  They don't know.  

  His brothers sleep on. Sky and Hyrule and Four are all on one side of camp not yet close enough to be considered cuddling but certainly nearing that point should one or another shift in their sleep, and they all will. Wind usually sleeps at the captain's back but tonight has dozed off in the veteran's shoulder and now lies close to the elder hero, who, while not asleep, doesn't seem to be quite awake either. As for their wolf trio, Twilight and Wild are curled up in each other as usual, and Time… 

  Time is watching him. 

  Reasonably speaking, he should be watching in disapproval. It's been hours and the captain hasn't lain down to go to sleep at all. His watch shift ended hours ago, Time taking over just when he was certain that he'd actually go mad from sitting alone in what others would perceive as silence but which for the captain was as good as his own personal hell. 

  His soldiers. His men. His own dear friends and brothers in arms. Dead. 

  Their souls gnash at his own, and while his body may not be touched by hands untouchable, his soul is, and while no damage can be done in their weak state, that does nothing for the screaming and the pain of his heart as he watches them. And he can't not watch them. 

  He owes it to them, in a way. His blade had taken their lives, his own two hands snapped the chords of their fate and extinguished their flames to leave them nothing but husks of what they once were, still too full of fury to pass on past the veil and find solace in whatever might lay in the beyond. He is the cause of their suffering, and despite how others may claim that it was Ganon, or Cia, or some other power that drive fate to be how it was and took the choice- took so many choices from so many people- it does not change the fact that it was he, and he alone, who ended so many of the lives that still linger here. 

  So, he owes it to them to let them air their hate, just as he owes it to their families to let them simmer in theirs. He took. He killed, and be it for the right cause or not, death is death and a killing is a killing, and soldier though he may be, he hates to stare at his hands and see the blood of these innocent victims dripping from his fingers. 

  That, and the screaming, keeps him from sleep and under Time's stare, but the judgment of the elder is nothing to be compared with the fury and agony of restless souls, even with the uncanny magic that wafts off the man. 

  Death is stronger tonight. 

  The captain shifts in his seat. He's chosen the remains of an old wall as his perch, to watch from up high and not in the midst of the spirits is the one kindness he grants himself. The wind bites at him, tearing at his hair and scarf as it tries to pierce the wool of his clothes and iron of his mail. It's late, they're safe here and he has no reason to still be dressed for war, but it feels wrong to be anything but as he watches his soldiers wander below. 

  One surges up to him, weightless now in death, eyes empty and cold, just as they had been as his blade had been pulled a third time from their chest and they had finally fallen. Hands grasp and screams, wordless and sharp, rip from non-existent lungs. Such vestments of humanity were stripped by buzzards, and all that lies in remains is the skeleton that lies against the wall at his feet. 

  He tries not to look at it.  

  The man's name was once Conlee, he was a blacksmith's son with a sweetheart back in Ordon Town and plans to start a farm there, living the quiet life. He was one of the first to become corrupted and thus be killed. His infant son is only five months old. 

The captain winces, not because of the screams or the chill of a spirit's touch, but at the thought of Magda, Conlee's sweetheart, standing there with her newborn and receiving the news. He'd delivered word to them himself and it killed part of him. Artemis forbade him from doing it again after that, but that didn't stop him from seeing the fallout when others took the task. 

  Conlee eventually ceases his assault, returning to wandering the field beside his fellow slain soldiers, and Warriors' eyes follow them. That it, they do until a thunderous explosion has him and every spirit jumping to attention. His hand flies to his blade in an instant but when he turns to face the noise, all that can be seen are shimmering blue and crimson sparks dancing across the sky. 

  Another such explosion of color lasts across the sky, ripping at ears and making those sleeping stir, even as the captain shudders. 

  Time watches the fireworks placidly, gaze straying to Warriors now and again. 

  The captain doesn't notice. His eyes are fixed on dancing sparks, even as he forces himself back down to seated. 

  They're celebrating, over in Castle Town. Why, he can't fathom. Today was a day of victory, a year ago in the war, but not one worth anything. Too many men dead. Too many lives lost. Too much needless death on both sides had made their victory a pyrrhic one. He can't imagine celebrating this or any other battle save those which ended in Cia and Hanon's defeat. Certainly nothing warrants the sparks and screams in the air as flame and smoke lick across the sky from the city ahead.  

  He doesn't like them. 

  They're loud. The sound… it startles and shakes him like not even the screams of the dead do. It's like canon fire all over again. Lead raining down from the battlements, crushing foe beneath as allies and friends steered clear lest they be struck. The walls are crumbling and the troops roar beneath, too locked battle and too deafened by the blasts they hear the shifting of stones. The weight of the cannons is pushing, the wall is giving way, the enemy is darting close and Mask is atop the wall, shouting, screaming, voice unheard but face white and afraid and- the stones give way and the child stumbles and….! 

  Warmth, soft and sweet, floods over him. 

  The captain blinks his eyes and looks over the long-ruined battlefield. The moldering stone walls and barely standing remains of the keep are still there. The cannons are long buried under the rubble. Mask- no, Time sits by the arch of the gate, staring out at the burst of stars rippling up from where Castle Town lies. 

  All is well, all is at peace, and when he turns back, he finds Legend perched on the wall beside him, tired eyes fixed on him and waiting, soft golden magic seeping from him to brush against the captain's own, soothing and sweet like warm cider "Vet?" He's a bit startled to see the other up, and his gaze immediately darts down to where Wind has been left. 

  The sailor now has his face pressed between Twilight's shoulders, snoring softly and soundly. 

When he turns back, violet eyes are studying him quietly, golden light brushing gently over in a near unseeable whisp where unfelt hands had grasped and struck. He's being examined. Legend's not nearly as good at it as Hyrule, but he's a quick learner and the younger man seems to have a handle on this most simple of medical magics. 

  Warriors lets it be, sitting still and letting his eyes wander back to the roaming spirits below. When warmth brushes against his side, silent but pointed, he breathes. 

  Legend doesn't say anything. 

  Warriors isn't sure he can either in this moment. 

Instead, he shifts, lifting an arm and end of his scarf and curling both around the smaller form of his brother as Legend settles beside him. 

  Somehow the action feels different than when Wind would do it. More akin to Mask actually. The vet is similar in many ways, and paramount in those is his refusal to seek out contact save in order to offer comfort to others. Warriors takes it though. The warmth and weight against his side on the old and ruined wall helps to ground him, and when the next burst goes up, he's able to breathe the slightest bit easier. By habit borne of Mask and Wind, his hand lifts to mused strawberry hair, running through slowly so that his breaths match every lift and fall of his hand. 

  The vet shifts, but he doesn't complain, so the battle-worn hands remain as gnarled and boney ones pull the scarf a bit closer. 

  Legend doesn't say anything to him, doesn't even glance up at him. For all intents and purposes, the veteran has settled here to provide comfort of the physical sort, but even so, the steady presence and newfound ability to breathe again have the words tumbling out. 

  "I don't like fireworks." 

   There is silence beside him, the only sign of life the slight tilt inward of the vet's head, closer against his chest. 

"They sound like canons." He whispers, cautious of those sleeping below and behind them. "It… I don't like it." 

  Silence greets his words.  

  Not cold silence, no, there is something heavy about it. Heavy and still, but while not quite expectant, it feels open. It's an odd thing to try and describe, even to himself, but there is no other way. It's an openness he feels the distinctive need to fill, so his words and thoughts tumble out, tired, worn and pained like he rarely allows himself be. 

  "It's bad enough camping here, but the canons- fireworks… The battle here ended horribly, the walls collapsed and all the canons crushed those below. Most of them were our men." 

  Men who'd not died quickly.  

  Men whose bodies were half buried, the other half left writhing and most times screaming for help. 

  It makes him shiver again, but the body beside his own remains still. A part of him knows Legend's listening, but the other half, still shattered and shaken, has his hand dropping to the crook of the other man's neck all the same, seeking a pulse and holding when he finds it.  

  Legend doesn't shake him off, only shifts some to accommodate. 

  Warriors takes that as permission to leave his hand where it lies. 

  He breathes once more, tuning his own to the easy puffs from the other man. " I don't like this place." 

  Another shift, this time so that star-flecked eyes can fix on him. 

  He winces. Doesn't tremble, but it's a near thing as he looks into the sea of faces only he can see. "They all died," it's more whisper than word, his eyes tracking the countless eyes fixed on himself and now Legend. 

  Boney fingers gently settle over top his own. They're warm. 

  "Nothing was in our favor. Our own men were turned against us. The cannons we mounted on the walls were too heavy for the stone to support while firing them so often." He looks to the ground beneath where the most of the scattered armor and bone peek through fallen masonry. "The walls fell. The enemy took over the fort and half our men were either killed or corrupted." A shuddered breath. "I don't know how many lives I took that day." But he'd been drenched in blood, hair and hands stained for days after. 

  Legend blinks. Gaze like endless twilight skies, unreadable but so much easier to watch than the ones filled with scorn around them. Still, easier though it may be, there's something impossible about looking a brother in the eyes as he speaks his next. "I considered them brothers." 

  His throat is tight. 

  "I killed them." 

  Something heavy settles on his knee, startling him, and when the captain looks it's to see Time standing against the wall. The man leans back against the stone, arms settled over the top by where they sit, but one heavy hand resting on Warriors' leg; a silent comfort. 

  The single blue eye is pained as it turns to him. Expression familiar as the one he likely wears himself. 

  Time was there too. Time had almost died with them. 

  Only Midna's quick thinking had been his saving, a portal opening breath him in midair before he could be buried with the others in the rubble. He'd emerged again in a twin pool of shadow instants later, thoroughly startled and considerably less Hylian, but they'd never worried much on it in the moment. What mattered was that he had been safe, and if Warriors’ first action once the battle was over was to fall to his knees and pull both younger heroes in close, breathing in the scent of life and sweaty little brothers and trying to assure himself that they, at least, had made it out alive. 

  Midna never even teased him for it. She’d stood watch and settled her hand on his shoulders much like how Legend and Time do now, and sat in silence while he’d mustered his courage to raise his head again and face the destruction he’d helped to cause. 

  “We started together,” the words rasp, gaze trailing across the field. Five or six spirits watch him, some with hooded eyes and others with visible pain. “We joined the army hoping for better. We promised to look out for each other, watch each other’s backs.”  

  The hands on his tighten their hold minutely; not constricting, but ever present and holding tight enough it feels as though they think it will ground him back to reality. He hopes- or rather… does he want it to work? 

  “We stuck together through basic. Helped each other with our forms. I think one of my mates even bribed the commanding officer to get us all deployed to the same garrison.” They had. They’d all scraped together funds as a group and the oldest one of them had gone to present the ‘offering’ to their commander. “I saw them as brothers,” he repeats again,” we roamed the streets together as tykes, the roads as young men, and when the war came, we thought we’d stay together then too.” 

  He has to muster a breath as one of them turns their back. 

  Legend’s thumb grazed the back of his hand gently, moving back in forth in a subtle but assuring motion. 

  “And then I became the hero.” 

  The cursed hero. The title’s done nothing but bring trouble to himself and Hyrule both since he’d discovered the truth, and there’s been many a day he’d wished that he’d just stayed home and spent the rest of his life as a tailor like his father. No Triforce would have shown itself then. No hero would have been forged and no war would have been started for his soul. Life would be so much better, on so many counts, if he never had become a soldier. 

  “I wish I’d stayed home. I wish- gods, there’s so many things I wish. I wish I hadn’t joined. I wish I hadn’t left my post that first day we were attacked. I wish I’d had the good sense to follow the advice of my men and watch my damned ego! If I’d just kept myself in check, been content!” Both hands lift to drag through too-long hair. 

  He needs to cut it. It’s not uniform. 

  He hates the thought nearly as much as he hates the uniform that goes with it. 

  “My brothers fought for honor,” he whispers to the sky, “I was just fighting for the money.” 

  “A man fights for what he doesn’t have.” 

  Legend’s words make him start. First at the sound, the other two have been silent thus far and he’d expected- he’s not sure what he expected. Legend smirking up at him, violet skies flashing softly with something playful, makes him ease, drop his hands again and take the one that offers itself to him. If his first action is to seek the pulse point, neither Time nor Legend says anything of it. 

  “Still, if I’d stayed home. We’d never be here.” Another scream, unheard by the others, rips through the air. “I’d never have killed them.” 

  “Wars-” 

  “I know I had to.” it’s out of his mouth in a moment. “I know there wasn’t a choice. They were corrupted, they were traitors. There wasn’t anything else I could do, and by doing what I did I brought us one fraction of a step closer to defeating Ganon. I know what I did had to be done. I know I had to do it, but…” his grip tightens, “that doesn't change the fact that I had to kill; that I killed my own men. A death is a death, no matter who causes it, and no matter what anyone says about the war not being my fault, I was the one who made the decision to end the lives that I did. Regardless of the fact that there were no options, I still am the one who did it.”  

  Heavy hands and boney ones grip a bit tighter, one blue and two violet eyes staring up at him even as his own turn to the field, a sort of bitter emptiness lingering in him at finally speaking the words. 

  He’s heard every assurance, he thinks every excuse has been uttered on his behalf, but while he knows, in a way, that the deaths weren’t something he could change, the fact that they came by his hands sits uneasy in his mind. 

  So much death. So much caused by himself. So little gained. So much lost. He can’t help but wonder sometimes if it was even worth it in the end. 

  Other times though, he looks at Hyrule, growing again, thriving, he sees his little brothers grown or growing. He sees a glimmer of a future in the champion, a promise that there is something worth fighting for. There’s people, endless souls and homes and lands to protect. There’s still a reason. 

  That doesn’t make what he had to do easier to bear though. 

  What he appreciates though is that neither brother attempts to assure him on that point. In fact, Time’s head nods just the slightest, eyes glinting with pain as they turn to what, to him, is an empty field scattered with bones. Beside him, Legend’s gaze falls, and though he can’t see, he can sense the burden that settles over the other’s soul. 

  They get it. They don’t say as much and make no attempt to share anecdotes about their own sufferings. There are no words spoken at all for a moment, the only motioning being Time’s restless feet shifting and Legend’s hands working over the joints and bone of his own, shifting in a silent study as his mind focused on some other place, thing or occurrence. 

  It’s silent for a moment. 

  Well, very nearly.  

  Shards of light still explode across the heavens and the spirits still come and go below, but there is no more action from them as many linger by their forlorn corpses or others by hastily dug mass graves. He’s not sure if they can see each other or not, but it would seem they can sense his brothers; between Time’s twisted, sickening magical aura and Legend’s holy one, nothing strays close anymore, and he’s left in some sick semblance of peace as he’s forced to watch them regardless, even with his brother’s close by. 

  “Tell us about them?” Legend’s voice is softer than most days. It’s neither sleep nor pain, but something almost dreamy in his tone, something distant. 

  Right now, he hasn’t the energy to wonder why, but he notes to himself to ask later, when he has enough in him to care. For now, he’ll be selfish. 

  “Why?” 

  “Because they deserve to be remembered,” endless violet latch onto his face, “they shouldn’t go forgotten.” 

  “What did they like to do?” Time chimes in, “what did you do in your free time? What were their families like?”   

And it hurts to even think about it. An ache settles deep within at the mere thought, but still, when his eyes fall on Gassun’s face amidst the forest of the fallen, he can’t help what slips from his lips. “My best friend was our next-door neighbor. He used to tease me about becoming my sister’s sweetheart. They wanted a fall wedding.” 

[disabled-warriorcats]

Moth Flight has ADHD [canon], prolonged grief disorder, and PTSD [Mod headcanons]