#ptsd mention

[jaded-but-softening]

[squiddle-widdle]

There is no way (to me) that Silent Salt escaped everything he went through as Lord Commander without PTSD.

As a result, I was thinking about places Silent Salt would go after his "redemption" (quotations bc this man never fully fell anyway) and eventually landed on Hollyberrian celebrations.

At first, I think it would be bittersweet. It would be like the Faerie celebrations just a bit too much for his open wound. Then, the fireworks would come. At this point, Salt would slink away, leaving Saint Lily to find him among the gardens.

[caninecarer]

let's talk about caring for a regressor with PTSD/trauma.

i think a lot of regressors would describe themselves as sensitive when they're regressed, which makes sense. but when that heightened sensitivity is engulfed in panic attacks and flashbacks? it's truly devastating to witness.

if you're a carer to a little one with PTSD/trauma, know that i'm proud of you and your kiddo knows how much you love them. i sometimes struggle with blaming myself for setbacks in my kid's recovery, and if anyone feels the same, i want you to know that i know you're doing the best you can. remember that you're not responsible for their healing, and although you truly want to be there for your little one, you deserve to have your needs met too.

of course, such low lows make the highs seem even higher; the mornings when your kid wakes up and says they had no nightmares; teaching them to use self soothing techniques; proving to them each and every day that you're not going anywhere... don't get me wrong. i would do anything to rid my kid of their trauma. but i wouldn't trade them for the world.

[cry-baby6]

[rr-sheep]

-E X E C U T I O N-

[Forsaken] I wonder if every time taph gets killed they remember getting hunted by the mob

[nyazai-osameow]

a silly little comic of a convo i had with a friend one night

[pinkredheart]

Uncomfortable Past

notes: miles upshur has PTSD, domesticity, past trauma, fluff/comfort, bittersweet [fem reader implied]

Miles has one regret he cannot undo, ever. Following up on the whistleblower’s call to end the corrupt psychiatric facility that should not have been running. He wishes he never, ever answered the call, accepted to report on the matter. He paid with almost his life, and his fingers. You were the only positive thing about escaping. He met you when he was out investigating and reporting, he interviewed you from the point of view of someone who was a mental health professional. Someone much more morally good compared to the bloodied psychological “doctors” he had encountered at the asylum.

The asylum had warped his view of therapy for the worse, only because he saw what happens when things take a very unethical turn. Experimenting on individuals, depriving them of resources, and leaving them to fend for themselves.. is what was the demise of Mount Massive Asylum.

Now, he was going steady with a woman who was much too sweet to him, and his life now had a sense of normalcy now that he’d settled down with you. Miles was not the most talkative, he let you do most of the talking, and gladly listened. Sometimes he was distant with you, but it was only because of his unprocessed emotions and trauma from the asylum bleeding into his free life.

He was more of a listener than a talker, is what you have observed over your time of being with him. Miles wouldn’t start conversation always, but when he did, it was always an interesting one. Miles kept to himself even more-so after the traumatic events he faced at Mount Massive. He was much more apprehensive about covering topics others averted, because of the dreadful outcome of his last participation in an expose. Some days, he wonders what his life would have been like if he hadn’t ever followed up to Waylon Park’s email.

He put down a newspaper article he’d spent hours highlighting and dissecting, distracted by his dog, Patches. Patches nudged his snout against his sleeve and curled up next to him. Miles smiled faintly and laid back against the couch with a groan. He brightened up a tad when you came and sat too close next to him, your thighs touching.

“Are you excited for fall?” You lean in and put an arm around his body, he does the same to you. Feeling a sense of security now that he was holding onto you. You feel his eyes staring at the large sweater you were wearing.

“I can tell you are,” he chuckles, and you laugh too, glancing between Patches and Miles’ face.

“Mmhmm. What’s the matter?” You ask quietly, sitting your cheek against his arm, you can tell he’s silently bothered by something. He shakes his head at you and brings you closer. You gladly accept his touch, and you sit on his lap now. Patches waddles off to go bark at a squirrel running around outside of the window.

“Just.. thinking.” He vaguely says. He has that faraway glazed look in his eyes, you already can guess the contents of his cognitive processes.

“Is it about that?” Miles sighs heavily and nods, sitting his hands on your waist to distract himself; the warmth of your body definitely helped.

“You wanna talk about it?” you ask genuinely, looking into his dark and tired eyes.

“Not at all. Let’s talk about you.” He leans closer to you and kisses your cheek; you kiss his back and smile at him. Miles manages to.

“I don’t want to talk about myself though.”

“Hmm.. whatever will we talk about then?”

“How about this?”

Your finger pokes him firmly in the chest, and you watch his face flush. He takes your hand in his own, and he interlaces your hands together. He silently mourns the loss of his index and ring finger. You squeeze his palm tighter, and you lean closer to hug him. Miles stiffens, and reluctantly wraps his arms around your own form. You hum as he reciprocates your hug, and you kiss his shoulder. He lightly groans, and moves to do the same to you, he presses a couple of chaste kisses to your throat.

Your head leans back so he can mark your neck, your toes curl the longer he bit and suckled. Sometimes when the two of you were close together like this, you could feel the subtle presence of the Walrider. But it never seemed to harm you, at least psychologically. You could feel its ghost hands feel at your body while Miles touched you. You never commented on it, you just knew that Miles left Mount Massive with some sort of spiritual attachment glued to him, that sometimes phased in and out of his body.

"Hmm.. cold." you complain, snuggling into his body more, your head buries in his shoulder. The two of you sit still, just silently caressing each other in the afternoon light.

"I'm getting help." Miles randomly says, and your head shots up immediately, your eyes wide. You look at him with pitying eyes, and you lean closer to touch noses, his expression vulnerable looking.

"..I'm so glad, you know. I wish I could wipe your memory of that place."

"Oh believe me, so do I.."

Miles dryly laughs, and you frown at him, unsure of what to say.

“Fuck Murkoff. Seriously.”

Miles didn’t tell or show you the full extent of what he saw, he intentionally tried to hide his footage from you, just so he wouldn’t traumatize you in the process. You obeyed his wishes, because if not looking at the footage that haunted him pleased him, you wouldn’t touch his camera.

That camera of his got him through hell. It also looked like it after all of the shit he went through. You knew it held footage the average person wouldn’t be able to handle.

You remember seeing Miles throwing up just from the thoughts and memories, and the night terrors. The night terrors were bad, they came and went, just when you thought things were getting better, you were jostled awake by a manic Miles.

You never blamed him or got angry at him for his outbursts. You knew he had trauma, trauma that wasn’t going to go away on its own. It needed to be unpacked and then put away for good.

“You’re going to that therapist I recommended?”

You ask softly, rubbing his cheek now. Your eyes searched his, filled with delight and anxiety. You just hoped the person would be a good fit, perhaps someone who has also faced significant trauma, but was able to grow and change from it.

He silently nods, avoiding your eyes. You could cry seeing the look in his eyes. Dread, longing, regret. Your warm hand never left his cheek, he suddenly kissed it, and held the palm that grounded him. He sighs with a weight you were amazed he could bare at all.

“I am. I need it.” He quietly says, you watch him with intent eyes, this was good progress. Miles Upshur was an independent and avoidant man. Ignoring the echoing madness in his mind was driving him further to madness. You could see the damage that the Asylum had done to him.

”Good!.. Good.. it will help.” You whisper to him, bringing him into a tight hug again, you feel him lay some of his heavy weight on you. You hum and stroke his back, mumbling to him.

"I hope." He mumbles to you as you hold him in your arms, your smaller stature warm and comforting to Miles. He sighs and lets you go, and your lip quivers.

"Do you want to watch a movie? I want to take my mind off of it." He asks, and you brighten, agreeing with a softened smile.

"Of course I want to watch a movie."

The night ended with the two of you cuddling until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. Miles hadn't of slept. He kept a watchful eye on you the entire night, he had relinquished his dreams to insomnia. His own personal sleep debt was beyond his years, but for now, he would protect what he had, his future wife sat in his arms, and he'd be damned if he didn't put a ring on your finger before he died.

Cold feeling static floated around Miles' and the Walrider floated above the both of you, and closed Miles' eyelids. A silent peace offering was given to him, and he slept well for the first time in months.

[bangs-coffee-fandoms-unite]

I am in the middle of rewatching the 2003 version of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles during my summer break from college, this time with my father, who had only seen bits and pieces of it when I watched it as a child. We are currently on season four, which fans often refer to as the "post-traumatic stress disorder arc" for Leonardo, as it depicts his mental deterioration and increasing anger, even surpassing that of his notoriously hot-headed brother.

While doing the dishes, I asked my father what he thought of the arc so far. He simply said, "He seems angry." I agreed, replying, "Yeah, he's angry at himself." My father responded, "Yeah, but he's also angry at his brothers." This made me pause. I knew Leonardo had moments where he was upset with his brothers for not training enough or for goofing off, but I had not thought of him as being outright angry with them.

Then my father elaborated, "He's angry because they're not perfect, like he expects himself to be." This was a revelation for me. I had always interpreted this arc as Leonardo being angry at himself for not being good enough, but it makes a lot of sense that if he holds himself to such a high standard, he would hold his brothers to the same—and get frustrated and angry when they inevitably do not meet it.

I think a less explored aspect of this arc is that Leonardo is exhausted from carrying the burden alone and was trying to share it with his brothers. However, they do not carry it the same way he does, which does not make them lesser—it just makes them young and still wanting a life outside of crime fighting. Michelangelo captures this sentiment best in the same season when he says,”I think all of you should just lay off the poor guy. I mean, it can't be fun. Always being the responsible one, and we’re the ones who really benefit. Raph's free not to think cause Leo does all the thinking for him, Don's free to dream, And I'm free to take it easy, all cause Leonardo is busy being responsible enough for all of us.”

Anyway, at the ripe age of twenty-two and in graduate school, I find myself once again feeling melancholic over little green guys.