#we balling today

[silliest-heartaches]

🌿

[tinystrawberryshifter]

[boomposhpow]

PINES FAMILY HOLIDAY POSTING YAYY HOW JOLLY

[will-bonna]

heart

[untitledgoosegay]

re last reblog I do see fanfic culture pushing/replicating a certain model of "what trauma looks like," "how trauma works"

this is a problem across all areas of society obviously, but transformative works are, well, transformative. they're about crafting and modifying narratives where the fan-creator sees a flaw or a lack -- often for the better! don't get me wrong, I've done my fair share of "I take a hammer and I fix the canon," it's the main thing that gets my creative gears spinning -- but what happens when that "flaw" is simply a narrative not conforming to popular expectations?

some people just don't get PTSD from events that sound obviously traumatic. they're not masking, and they're not coping; they just straight-up didn't get the permanently-locked stress-response that defines PTSD. they walk away from a horrible experience going "well, that sucked, but it's over now." some people do get PTSD from events most people wouldn't find traumatic. we don't really know why some people get PTSD and others don't. but fandom has an idea of events that must be traumatizing, of a "correct" way to portray trauma. you see the problems with this lack of understanding in e.g. fans pressuring the devs of Baldur's Gate 3 to add dialogue where the player character badgers Halsin about his own feelings on his abuse -- because he must be traumatized, and his trauma must fit a certain mold and presentation of sexual trauma, under the mistaken impression that anything outside that narrow window is somehow "wrong" and disrespectful or even harmful to survivors.

take, for another example, the very common trope of a traumatized character who hates touch or sex "learning" to like touch or sex as a part of their healing process. certainly that can be healing for some people; other people will never like, or want, touch or sex, because of trauma or because they just don't. the assumption that someone who doesn't want sex or doesn't like to be touched must be traumatized, must be suffering from this perceived lack, is seriously harmful -- to asexual people, to people with sensory issues around touch, and to people for whom healing from trauma means freedom to refuse sex or touch.

and there's a secondary trope, one that's slightly more thoughtful but ultimately repeats the problem -- that once someone has learned that their boundaries will be respected, they'll feel it's safe to soften those boundaries. once they feel safe refusing touch or sex, they'll feel comfortable allowing it on their own terms. but many people don't, and many people won't! many people will simply never want to be touched, and never want sex, and they are not suffering or broken or lacking because of it. the idea that proving you'll respect someone's boundaries entitles you to test those boundaries -- the paradox is obvious, and yet this is something i've seen hurt (re-traumatize) people i care for.

people are imperfect victims. people don't heal in the ways you expect. many people have positive memories of their abuse, of their abusers. many people hurt others in the course of their trauma, in ways that can't easily be unpacked in a 5k oneshot. very few narratives of trauma and recovery actually fit the ones put forward by popular children's media and romance novels -- which are the ones I most see replicated in fandom spaces, because they provide the clearest narrative and easiest catharsis, and so they're easy and soothing to reach for.

that's not necessarily a bad thing! i am not immune to goopy romance tropes. i am not immune to teary catharsis. not every fic has to grapple with ugly realities. but there's a problem when these narratives become predominant, when people think they're accurate and realistic depictions of trauma, when the truth of trauma is unpleasant and uncomfortable, and doesn't fit any single narrative, let alone one of comforting catharsis

[skmr24]

the hair tie/bracelet

[industrations]

Omw to a funeral (not anyone close to me) at 9 am with 3 hours sleep and my phone only giving me grinch thirst traps and raging anxiety is not really how i imagined starting the fist day of christmas

[hotluncheddie]

For the @steddie-spooktober day 26, 27 & 28 prompts : blood, scary movies & mask

rated: T | cw: minor injury | tags: Steve Harrington has a crush on Eddie Munson, pre relationship, post s4, Eddie Munson takes care of Steve Harrington, elusions to sub space

🩸🩸🩸🩸

Steve is trying to watch the movie, he really is, even if horror was never really his thing. Eddie’s eyes went so bright when he picked it out at family video, distracting Steve. Then he complimented Steve on the pumpkin decorations he’d made for the windows which distracted him further. And finally he handed it over at the counter in a way that made their fingers brush; essentially shutting down Steve’s brain completely. So then, by the time Eddie asked him if he’d seen it, all steve could manage was a no and a nod at the date set to watch it together.

Which somehow ended up with Eddie on his couch and their pinkies entwined.

Steve might have the image of it seared on his retinas, he can’t stop looking at them.

The place where they’re touching. Where he’s touching Eddie. Touching a boy, on his parents couch.

Freddy Krueger jumps out. Steve’s father’s face flashes in his minds eye. His heat rate skyrockets.

Steve jumps up. ‘I’m just gonna go to the bathroom, you I’m, do you want more popcorn?’ He asks.

Eddie jumps too, staring at Steve with wide eyes. ‘Uh, no I’m good. I’ll pause it yeah?’ He asks, already sliding off the couch and shuffling over to the set.

Steve nods and walks out, does use the bathroom even though he didn’t know he needed too. Checks the back door is locked, it is.

It’s started to rain; Eddie needs to drive safe he thinks as he slices an apple for himself.

But his hands are still damp and the blade slips. Nicks his thumb.

He’s bleeding. Red oozing out over his palm.

‘Shit, shit!’ He vision starts to tunnel, something smells weird, something mouldy. He’s bleeding and mouldy and and.

‘Steve.’ Eddie’s there, cradling his hand. ‘Sit for me yeah?’ Steve’s in front of the island stool. He sits. He swallows but his mouth is dry.

‘Wound care was a vital learning stage in my clumsy and overconfident life cycle as a child. Scraped my knee more than I ate Kraft cheese, and grilled cheese is my shit.’ Eddie says, holding a kitchen towel against the wound. ‘Bandaids?’ He asks.

‘Bathroom.’ Steve rasps, replacing his own hand over the towel as Eddie instructs.

At some point Eddie comes back, sticking a plaster over the cut and Steve feels like he’s floated off somewhere else entirely.

‘Woah.’ He says shakily; Eddie prodding around the covered wound in a way that makes everything go fizzy, he focuses on his breathing; on not throwing up.

He comes too laying on the couch, his head in Eddie’s lap. He thinks about sitting up for a moment, but the scratch of Eddie’s nails in his hair is just too good.

His mouth feels slow and awkward but manages to mumble. ‘This’s embarrassing, you saw me bite into a bat and now, ugh.’ He laughs weakly.

‘Steve I would give my single remaining nipple to never see you put on whatever mask you had to in the upside down.’ Eddie’s voice rumbled from above Steve’s closed eyes.

‘Hm.’

‘I mean it. Just relax okay?’ Eddie’s other hand strokes over his cheek. Steve feels like his whole body’s in a warm bath.

His jaw cracks as he yawns sleepily, his mind a dark expanse, thoughts float near the surface but don’t quite breach; the ebb of Eddie’s fingers sending them back beneath.

One slips past though, syrupy slow. ‘Mmm don’t wan, don’t want you to see me as different. As like, without the, the whatever. M’Indiana jones. M’supoosed to be like the hero, or, or the side kick you know? Robin to my Robin. Not, not this.’

Eddie’s quiet for a moment, as Steve’s floats. ‘There’s no mask right now?’ He asks gently.

Steve shakes his head, makes a little nu uh sound.

Eddie’s fingers don’t stop moving. ‘Each year the great pumpkin rises out of the pumpkin patch that he thinks is the most sincere.’ Floats out from the TV, the movie is different, Steve just now realises.

‘Stevie, you’re the prettiest you’ve ever been.’ Eddie whispers.

Sometime after that, sleep makes the world go black.

🩸🩸🩸🩸

Tag list (lmk to add / remove you) : @scoops-aboy86 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @pearynice @marvel-ous-m @thecatkingsthrone

@cheesedoctor @chickensinrainboots @chameleonhair @wheneverfeasible

[moeblob]

Does anyone remember when I would draw Glenn being a lil shit to his dad? Anyone?

[latenightsundayblues]

I imagine their banter and bickering in the process of killing someone would deal greater psychological damage than the torturing itself

[seokminfilm]

sweetpeas | lee seokmin

pairing: lee seokmin x reader

warnings: non-idol au, short, lowercase intended, fluff, period comfort, self-indulgent, seokmin calls reader 'sweetpea' and 'love', reader uses nicknames for seokmin, seokmin soft hours!!!!

now playing: darling, seventeen

"hi, sweetpea," seokmin whispers quietly, cracking open the door to see if you are still sleeping. you were, in fact, wide awake, looking to the door as a small smile came across your features as you reached out to him like a tired toddler. "min?"

"yes, it's min," seokmin smiles again, sitting at the edge of the bed as he takes your warm hands in his, kissing your fingertips as he stares down at your slightly pain-stricken expression. the heating pad rests on your lower stomach, and you're curled into a little half-moon, resembling a rollie pollie.

"are you doing okay?" seokmin asks concerned, and you shake your head 'no' slightly, taking his hands and placing them on your now warm body as you sigh. "i'm okay, just still in a tiny bit of pain."

"god, sweetpea. i'm so sorry." seokmin leans down to press a soft kiss to your tender lower stomach, and you giggle at the feeling of his lips on your stomach, causing him to smile down at you as he sighs.

"want me to do anything for you? get you anything?" seokmin strokes your hair, hand running over your head softly and repetitively as you hum.

"fruit," you mumble, and seokmin sighs, pouting cutely at your muffled reply as he sighs.

"love, i'm gonna need you to speak up. you're cute and all when you mumble, but i wanna be able to get you what you want without any miscommunications, okay?" seokmin asks, and you nod softly, tossing for a second as you find another comfortable position. "now, what did you say you wanted?"

"fruit, seokmin. i want some fruit." you look up at him with a soft, pleading expression, and he chuckles at you, running his slender hands over your stomach as you smile up at him.

"what kind?" seokmin asks, and you shake your head, offering a weak shrug. "i don't really care what kind, seok. i just want some fruit."

"okay, okay sweetpea—i hear you." seokmin kisses both your cheek and lips softly before pulling away from your body, and you whine, obviously not ready to part with seokmin just yet.

"give me 10 minutes, okay? i'm gonna cut some fresh fruit for you." seokmin consoles you, sweet voice bringing tears to your eyes as you mutter out a weak "really? fresh fruit? for me?"

"of course, sweetpea! anything for my girl." seokmin promises, and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face, suddenly overwhelmed with the love and appreciation you have for seokmin (probably partially, if not fully from your hormones going rogue).

"seokkie, i love you. so much." you weep into your pillow, and seokmin laughs softly, squatting down beside the bed to stroke your hair. "look at me, love."

sniffling and trying to clear your face of the tears, you finally look his way, to which seokmin greets your gaze with warm eyes and an even warmer smile as he pecks the tip of your nose.

"and i love you more, love."

[lil-vibes]

Day 30: Discintegrate

Previous/Next

(prompt list here!)

[m1d-45]

doctor's orders

summary: a mild cold in the hands of one used to life or death illnesses... he really worries too much.

word count: 1k

-> warnings: you're like.. very mildly sick.. +take one (1) pill for like .5 of one second. nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“i don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“i don’t kow why you aren’t.”

you sniffle again, wiping at your nose with a napkin he’d insisted you take. “it’s not like i’ll die, baizhu.”

“dont joke about that.” he sat at his desk, counting qingxin petals as he plucked them off. “you’ll be perfectly fine, so long as you take your medicine.”

you wanted to roll your eyes, to push off his worry and deny the pills. yes, you were sick, but with barely a cold—more an annoyance than anything—that you didn’t think was worth even half the trouble.

but if nothing else, this was for his benefit. part of the curse of being a doctor, you supposed: knowing even the most severe of illnesses started with a cough. or, in your case, congestion.

“and you’re certain that’s it? no aches or pains?”

for his sake, you checked again. nothing out of the ordinary, just as it was five minutes ago, the last time he asked you.

“i’m fine, just as i have been and just as i will be. even if i wanted to hide something, you’d be able to tell.”

he’d known you were sick before you did. you went out with qiqi yesterday, returning to the pharmacy with a basket propped on your waist. you exchanged your greetings with gui, lingering to watch qiqi set herself up in her chair, carefully prying seeds out of lotus heads. you were sat beside her sorting the horsetail from the violet grass when he came out of the back door, eyes lingering on you strangely.

“are you feeling well?”

you looked up, hands stalling. “yeah, i feel fine. why, is something wrong?”

gui smiled like he knew something you didn’t, but you didn’t focus on that. baizhu came to you, taking your hands in his, inspecting your palms like you’d miraculously developed an allergy to horsetail overnight. “…are you sure?”

“positive.”

“no new aches, not unusually hot or short of breath, nothing stiff or-”

“baizhu.” you turned your hands to hold his instead, his gloves cool under your fingers. “i’m fine. you worry too much.”

but, of course, your karma swung around and you woke up with a headache and a pressure in your sinus. the light off the stone paths felt too bright, your predicament obvious from the moment you opened your mouth to say hello. just like that, you’d been whisked away to a back room, changsheng curling around your shoulders as he tried to find any and every reason to worry.

it was cute. or, would have been, if you didn’t know he was worried beneath the fuss. if you didn’t know any better, it would seem like he was finding any and all excuses to touch you. a loose grip on your wrist to check if your heart was irregular, the back of his hand against your cheek to see if you had a fever, worrying and worrying like you weren’t stuck with the common cold and he wasn’t the best doctor this side of inazuma.

“you worry too much.”

“you worry too little. drink your tea.”

you did, bearing the bitter taste as changsheng slipped from your shoulders to his. honestly, with the way he was treating you, one could easily think you were at death’s door.

you weren’t, though. you traced the rim of the ceramic mug, watching him fuss with your medicine, carefully crushing and mixing a variety of strong-smelling ingredients you couldn’t hope to identify off sight alone, characteristics lost in the mortar and pestle.

“so,” you start, his eyes flicking to you but not losing focus. “you come here often?”

he rolled his eyes, adding an ambiguously labeled syrup. whatever shorthand he and gui had mastered was a mystery to you no matter how hard you tried to decipher it. “this is serious.”

“it’s the flu.”

“you don’t know that.”

“you’re biased.”

“and you’re not getting out of taking your medicine. have you finished your tea?”

he took the empty mug, checking the stray leaves at the bottom like they would give him whatever answers he was looking for. it’s not like you’d lied to him—not like you could, either. between he and changsheng, it was impossible to so much as bring him flowers.

with the help of a few bits of hyperspecific equipment (that looked far too dangerous to just be for a doctor), a single pill was tucked into your palm, a muted green sphere with flecks of white dispersed across its surface. another cup of medicinal tea was poured and drank, a bitter aftertaste left in your mouth as expected. but you were rewarded for your troubles with a quiet sigh of relief, all of his nerves apparently washing away with that single action. he pushed his glasses up on his nose, eyes softening from ‘stern doctor’ to ‘worried partner.’

“…and you’re certain-”

“i’m fine.” you downed the rest of the tea, lip curling at the taste as you set it down, not missing how he checked to see if you’d drank it all. “i’m not in pain. i’m not hurt. i’ve taken my medicine and you have personally seen me do it. please, relax.”

another sigh, this one tired and well-worn. “you know i can’t. it’s not that easy.”

“it was worth a shot,” you shrug.

he does all of the work that he can in your room that day, strictly confining you to the bed, but letting you sit with him in the lobby once noon passes and there’s less people bustling through. you politely ignore the subtle glow to his fingertips whenever he walks by you, just like you pretend not to notice his repeated, worried glances.

it was almost sweet, that he worried so much. and besides, who were you to tell him what to do with his time? a day spent with your doctor was a day well worth every second.

[crystallizsch]

that one time at the beginning of this october when i injured (exaggerating) my finger in the shower somehow

[mediaforanya]

fabian post shrimp party with his trashed house, comically large shrimp and milk

[intercrusher]

nasty old fart (lovingly)