#ptsd_

[bytheanchorarchived]

thank you @cassandraclare for creating jace herondale for us, for everyone that has to deal with and live with mental scars from abuse, and ptsd, and keeping him a hero of his own story, who surpasses the pain and learns to stand up for himself, without turning hateful, bitter, and lonely. thank you for showing us that just because someone didn’t love us enough or the right way before, it doesn’t mean others won’t, or that we have lost our own ability to love fiercely and be a source of light in other people’s lives. thank you for showing us we can stand up for ourselves, and still also be rescued by those who love us, without destroying them in the process, but coming out stronger than ever on the other end. thank you for giving us a character that has such real struggles, but also keeps his very real kind, generous, selfless, respectful, heart, and learns to give and receive love later in life, than we’re supposed to, without having to lose everything or kill the source of his abuse to become stronger. thank you for giving us the hero jace herondale. #worldmentalhealthday

[bytheanchorarchived]

for weeks after @lec dies for a second, j@ce has repeated nightmares of re-living that scene, only @lec never comes back and j@ce in the dream thinks reality is the illusion. it messes him up for a while, where he needs to touch @lec to know he’s real and there and alive, and j@ce wakes up gasping and while he’s dreaming he at times chants the ‘please don’t leave me, @lec’ hoping this time he will get to live. some times in those dreams @lec is killed by wolves, or by v@lentine’s hand because j@ce refuses to obey. some times he wakes up with his par@batai rune burning.

[bytheanchorarchived]

   d r a b b l e  |  o p e n

───   jace wayland,    p o s t  p a r a b a t a i  l o s t

                                         jace hunched forward, throat muscles contracting as he coughed and gasped, desperately. his arms were shaking as he propped himself on his hands, over the bathroom tiles, half laid in and out of the shower. the water still hitting his legs made him shake further. his eyes were wide as he continued to gag, distraught in his eyes as he scrambled to try and get the water out of his lungs. he could almost hear it the splash of water, the uncontrollable gush as it was punched out of his lungs, but in reality nothing was coming out. his fingers curled on the floor, nails hurting as he pressed them down, elbows threatening to give in, but he stayed completely unaware.

in his head, the water hitting him was ice cold. it splashed against his mouth and nose mixed with the bitter cooper of blood, entering by brute force and asphyxiating his lungs. he coughed and struggled against the binds and his broken ribs, gurgling as they laughed. and then the hits would come again, so heavy he could hear his bones snapping. he slipped and fell down to his forearms as a cold panic brew in his throat and weighed his stomach. he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air in no matter how hard he tried, couldn’t think, the tiles completely blind to him as all he saw were dirty, rusty, metal walls and darkness, so much darkness. 

was he alone? he didn’t know. he never really knew, aside from the screams and shrieks from the mutilated people his father imprisoned, until the first hit came. that was how they liked to announce themselves. he imagined a faint touch on his face, he was sure he did, but didn’t have the spirit to flinch away. it was valentine, he knew it. could almost hear the luring words. if only you weren’t so stubborn, jonathan... i could give you everything. his eyebrows were pressed to the point of aching, lips parted helplessly trying to swallow air in, as he trashed in the grip of his panic attack.