#ptsd flashbacks

[cry-baby6]

[defire]

Inspired by this post

PTSD

Content: 2nd person, flashbacks, fear, would-be violent reflexes, panic

Lying down, eyes fly open within 5 seconds as the vivid memory siezes your whole body

Body going rigid, nails digging into the sheets

Looking up as you pull yourself back out of it to see wet teeth marks in the pillowcase

Heart jolting when you hear your name called

Always going out of your way to never stand behind other people. You simply can't comprehend this not being frightening and you want to be considerate.

Fighting back the urge to bite the fingers when someone puts a hand on your shoulder. Snapping your mouth shut instead.

Closing your eyes and every time, you see the exact same horrible scene: what happened to you, now happening to your loved one too.

Panic attacks that take over in an instant and force your body into a tiny squeezed-up ball, making sounds like a wounded animal.

[memes4doom]

[psychocitysblog]

Why does being alive have to be so hard?

[newhyperfixationhereicome]

Whoever first pointed out that Caleb from LADS looks like Aki Myojin...

WHY?! I was starting to forget that mf existed why remind me?

Worst part is, I can't even be mad because it's fucking true

[ruckystarnes]

Title: Facture Lines Author: RuckyStarnes Words: 1,211 Characters: John Walker, Ava Starr Pairing: None Warnings: Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD Flashbacks, Sensory Overload, Grounding Techniques, Reluctant Allies, Post-Mission Safehouse, Vulnerability, Found Family-ish / Maybe, Heavy Angst with Eventual Comfort Rating: Teen Square Filled/Prompt: Day 9 - Flashbacks Written for: @whumptober Summary: Walker isn’t built for gentleness, but when Ghost starts to unravel, he does the only thing he knows: hold the line. Type: Oneshot A/N:

John shoved the door shut with his shoulder, breathing hard. His shield—paint stripped, edges dented—clattered against the floorboards as he propped it against the wall. His knuckles were split and bloody, his chest heaving.

“You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, not even looking at her.

Ava staggered past him, her outline already flickering. Her skin shimmered, her body breaking apart at the edges as if she couldn’t hold herself together. She pressed her palms flat to the peeling wallpaper, as if the cold wall could ground her, but her breath came sharp and uneven.

“Don’t,” she managed, voice breaking. “Don’t talk.”

John turned then, frown cutting across his face. “You’re falling apart.”

“No shit,” she laughed bitterly. The red light from the bulb caught the sheen of sweat across her temple. She tried to phase steady, tried to breathe through it, but then the floor dropped out from under her.

Not literally—but in her head.

The sound came first. The piercing, high, endless blaring of sirens inside her skull. Add in the clipped orders in Russian, clinical English murmurs about energy output, words like specimen and containment breach.

Her body jerked and fractured, half in the room, half somewhere else. The safehouse warped into a sterile chamber: white walls, restraints, bright lights burning into her eyes until she couldn’t see. The smell of ozone and scorched skin flooded her senses, thick and choking. Her throat convulsed around air that wasn’t there.

She clawed at her chest, desperate to hold herself together as her atoms threatened to scatter. Not again, not again, don’t let them take me apart.

Her voice cracked raw. “Don’t let them…don’t…”

John swore and dropped to his knees. “Hey, hey, stay with me.” He grabbed her wrists, and the static burned up his arms as she thrashed, her body passing through his grip before snapping back solid again. Her scream split the air. John’s gut twisted. She wasn’t here, wasn’t seeing him at all. She was drowning in a place he couldn’t reach, and she was tearing herself apart on the way down.

So he slammed his forehead against hers, hard enough to jolt them both.

Her eyes widened for a second, pupils blown, and in that flicker of stillness he saw her—saw Ava, not the Ghost or the experiment.

“There you go,” he muttered, voice low, steady. “With me. Not them. Not a lab. Me.”

The sirens in her skull still wailed, but through them, she could hear his breath, slow and deliberate, dragging her back. He didn’t let her slip away, his grip was unyielding, his voice cutting through the static.

“Breathe. Copy me. In. Out. Again.”

She sobbed but followed his instruction. Each inhale tore at her lungs, each exhale shuddered like glass cracking, but she matched him. Her body steadied, the shimmer easing until she was solid again. She collapsed against him, forehead pressed to his shoulder, fingers knotted tight in his shirt.

“I hate this,” she whispered, every word soaked in exhaustion and shame.

“Yeah,” John rasped, his jaw tight. He didn’t loosen his grip, didn’t let her drift. “Me too.”

For a moment, there was only the buzz of the bulb, the hammering of rain above.

“They… pulled me apart. Piece by piece. Until I didn’t know if I’d ever come back together.” Her breath caught, chest shaking. “Sometimes I think I’m still on that table.”

John closed his eyes briefly, jaw working. He didn’t tell her she was wrong. Didn’t offer empty assurances. He just tightened his hold, anchoring her weight against him. “You’re here now. And as long as I’m breathing, you’re not going back there.”

Her grip on his shirt tightened, as if testing the promise. She didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But she stayed, pressed against him, letting his steadiness be the thing that kept her from unraveling again.

And for the first time in hours, the ghosts in her head quieted.

[raccoonico]

we need more ptsd hallucinations and flashbacks that are not just "visions" representation. it's common to feel like youre back to the traumatic moment or talking to the person that is involved in the traumatic experience, but theres people who really dont have it. we need more representation of sounds "hallucinations" that reminds you of the trauma and makes your hypervigilance active to bad bad mode

oh and lets not forget about the physical hallucinations. itchy skin, the need to contract your body out of tension, the feeling of a dead-weight that dont leave your body, etc. oh and theres even olfactory hallucinations. we need more representation. we need to talk about this. let's talk about ptsd representation. let's talk about the overwhelming hypervigilance. let's write about that. let's explore this. let's represent this

[irlangelsdiary]

just a shoutout to any survivors <3

i see you.

i hear you.

i know its hard

i know some days are more difficult then others

but i also know you are strong, and brave.

i know you are going to get through this

i know you are going to heal

i know it will take one day at a time

but i know you will heal

we will heal

we will live without our trauma ruining us, we will love ourselves, empower ourselves and laugh and heal and one day it wont hurt as much.

one day.