#wild ptsd

[colibrie]

Day 3: "Make it stop"

"Easy," Twilight cooed, his voice a carefully curated mixture of firm warmth and gentleness that had soothed more than one creature on the ranch. His hands were carefully spread, palms open and placating as he took a cautious step forward. "Easy Wild."

His cub flinched back like he'd been struck, sword swinging to slash haphazardly at the air between them. Something moved in Twilights peripheral, but stilled when he swung one hand back in a clear sign to hold.

"It's okay. It's okay cub. It's just me. You can put that down now."

"T-Twi?"

"Yeah buddy, it's Twilight," he coached, forcing his shoulders to relax as those hazy blue eyes regained a bit of focus. "Put the sword down."

"I can't...I can't do it Twi. Not again. I'm not strong enough," Wild whimpered, long tresses fly in a matted mess about his head as he shook. "Make it stop! I don't... I won't... Make it stop!"

"Wild! Eyes on me!"

"MAKE IT STOP! "

[sheikfangirl]

"Shhh Link... I'm right here. We're home. It's okay... "

♥ Hurt & Comfort time ♥

Post-Totk Link is still plagued with nightmares of the Light Dragon, Gloom Hands, Phantom Ganon...Puppet Zelda...loneliness.

He wakes up at night screaming, hyperventilating, sobbing. But Zelda is there and she comforts him with love, kindness and patience! Like Link did for her Post-Botw.

It's gonna take time...but Link is gonna be fine ♥ Zelda too.

They are all gonna be fine and live happily ever after!!!

And Hateno domestic fluff resumes.

Gotta love when Zelda comforts her knight

[lazylittledragon]

As someone who read the second half of the Drizzt series as it came out (yes I'm that old lol), I just know you have thoughts about him/the books so PLEASE share! So glad there are so many younger DND players getting into it and keeping our lovely boy alive <3

YOU'RE SO RIGHT ANON I DO HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT HIM

i just!!!! love him!!! so much!!!! he's such a treasure

idk if this is me just overthinking things but the fact that he's THE dnd hero but he's also like. a petite little guy and his defining character trait is being KIND and he loves his friends and he's very physically affectionate (which feels kind of crazy to me that the early books came out so long ago and he was always like that??) and his best friend is his cat and he likes to have FUN and he treats swordfighting like dancing and he STILL sought the approval of his family even after years of abuse aND HE JUST LOVES EVERYONE SO MUCH

he's truly the fantasy protagonist of all time i love him i need to kiss him on the forehead

[littlecrittereli]

I don't usually post my sketches but I really like how this one turned out.

What's the point of angst without some good aftermath healing?

[liberate-te]

The truth about fireworks

[frownyalfred]

People look at Bruce Wayne and everything that's happened to me and just go "Well, I wouldn't be *that* traumatized."

Really BvS is just one very long manic ptsd episode on Bruce's part. He just happens to be much more dangerous than most people and it shows when he starts designing a fully functional kryptonite spear to kill an Alien he is now certain will one day kill him/destroy the world.

Exactly! He’s making decisions based on trauma and out of control emotions. Who would be okay, mentally, after what he’s seen/done/had happen to him?

You’re right — when someone else goes off the deep end like that, they usually limit their impact to family or friends. Bruce took his PTSD to the skies and tried to kill a god.

[sam-not-sammie]

During my last therapy session, I was getting into how much being disabled has affected my mental health, and how at least soon-ish i’ll be getting a surgery that might lead to a diagnosis and treatment plan, and when I told her about the specific conditions they’re looking for, her whole face fell in empathy and sympathy for me.

She began to tell me that considering how painful those conditions were, she totally understands how stressed I’ve been.

(I then had to tell her that the surgery I’m getting won’t even address the issues at the top of my priority list, but it was nice to finally be able to get some treatment/options after about 10 years of trying to figure this out.)

It caught her so off guard, and i just kinda laughed because yeah being chronically ill and disabled is just like that!

[bumblingbabooshka]

Every time I watch the cold open of Memorial and B'Elanna tells Tom about how she ASSEMBLED a 50's television set from SCRATCH just to surprise him (there's no reason beyond that - just an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gesture) and replicated popcorn for him to eat while he watches and Tom says "They didn't have remote controls in the 50's ♥ Also where's my beer?" I contemplate murder ESPECIALLY because B'Elanna responds cheerfully to it - GIRL!!! LEAVE HIM!!!!!! IS HE SUPPOSED TO BE CHARMING IN THIS SCENE????

[parcai]

ur recent tamlinposting .... lowkey ur not wrong

rereading had me seeing the light fr, got so used to fanon tamlin i forgot who he actually is...let my boy free..

[blightdaddy]

"you're here, with me."

[sheikfangirl]

Post-TotK fluff ❤️

No more nightmares. Zelda is really back.

Link can sleep peacefully ❤️

Cheers!

[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.”

[hballegro]

alan alda storytime

the full story from one of the screenshots of my previous post.

story begins with my archaeology professor showing a slide of alan alda in the early 2000s holding some mammoth bones and asks the class if anyone recognizes him. i had watched some MASH with my mother when i was little and had also seen the movie The Object of My Affection, so i raised my hand and said it was alan alda. he lit up and said yes, it was, and told the rest of the class he used to be on this old show, and that when we got more into the bioanthro side of things, remind him to 'tell his alan alda story'.

about 2 months later, we are in bioanthro, and i remind him. he gets excited and says he included slides to talk about it.

[rest under cut]

he tells us how he had just moved to a new city, and he had taken a university job in order to get insurance for his new family [which he didnt get but thats neither here or there]. he gets news that his job is going to be working with Scientific American Frontiers, hosted by the one and only Alan Alda. my prof was thrilled, he loves MASH, and while he specifically wouldnt be involved in the process [being a presenter, working with alan, etc] he was allowed to be around incase they needed help.

i dont know the specific episode, or if it can be found anywhere, but the topic was early man and tools, and how there were mammoth bones that specifically had cuts that could only be made with tools, not by teeth from an animal. they had finished filming for the day and just needed B-roll of some lions at the local zoo chewing some bones [part of the experiment], and alan got a call. he asked if he could head out now, because he needed to get back to his hotel now, and the call had been important. the producers said sure, go ahead, and alan asked if someone could give him a ride.

my professor, having the chance to actually spend time with someone he idolized, and being a stupid late 20s-something, volunteered immediately. stupid why? well, i said he'd just moved there. he didnt know where the hell anything was, and he didnt have GPS available to him, he was just really excited. so they get in the car and start driving.

as i said in my previous post, alan alda had about 20 minutes with this random guy, and found out pretty quickly that he was an archaeologist, and the amazing topic of conversation that he picked was the [then new] theory that we developed agriculture specifically to make booze, and that the rest of the stuff was more or less a biproduct. which is pretty on-brand honestly.

after a while, alan catches on to the fact that this guy clearly has no idea where the hell hes going, and that they've been driving in circles around the city for a while now. he [reportedly very politely] said that actually, this here was his stop, and thanked him for the ride. he then most likely called a taxi that actually knew where it was going, and got to his hotel.

turns out the call was about The Aviator! the call was important because he learned it was confirmed he in it and they needed him to get over there.

its not a glamourous story, but its the only story i got. my prof reported he was a funny guy, and despite slightly kidnapping the poor man for a while, he was the picture of kindness and personability. and clearly he likes telling the story and it left an impression, because he took time out of our already-short lecture to tell a class of 20-somethings that had no idea who Alan Alda was about it.

sorry this is so verbose i dont know how to be short lmao

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

do people know that shadow was like. intentionally trying to commit murder suicide. or is that less obvious if you’re not a sa2head (where he absolutely 100% suicidal)

[perfecttragedyflower]

I am a wilted flower, praying those around me remember, I need to watered sometimes too.

[beccaiscold]

Why can’t we ever be a normal level of bad? Like it can’t ever be a 2 or 3 goal deficit, it always has to be a stupid number like 5