#fireworks ptsd

[kairukitsuneo]

Fireworks PTSD (Part 1)

Sometimes fireworks trigger some flashback and it was never good.

[cringecorp]

[mudwerks]

don't be an asshole

[thesockwhisperer]

The 4th of July can be fun but fireworks are the W O R S T. I hope everyone who struggles with the sounds and lights of it all (like me :/) can hopefully have a not terrible night. Same goes for folks with ptsd that is triggered by the fireworks!

Update: I LIVE (barely)

[xitsensunmoon]

We made it folks, another year full of blorbos kfksjsj

[liberate-te]

The truth about fireworks

[my-illness-and-me]

oy americans: please be kind to your friends with PTSD and noise sensitivity the next few days. Fireworks are rough. I've been hiding in my closet, and not in the way you'd think I would be as a gay person.

[sonofatoasterwaffle]

Timber Timbre

The firework that sets him off is probably a Roman candle, and way closer than all the other ones have been, by Hen’s estimate. Eddie is on the ground before she can say anything and Hen’s blood runs a little cold at the realization of what’s happening. 

“Eddie,” she says gently. “It’s still fireworks, it’s okay.” 

Eddie is squatting low behind the kitchen island, head down, and he’s visibly shaking. He nods jerkily, but his breathing doesn’t slow at all. Hen’s heart hurts, but she’s careful not to get too close. She’s well versed in many a mental health crisis, but what to do when your friend is having combat flashbacks feels a little out of her depth. She gets low with him, keeps her tone soft and even. “How can I help, Eddie?” 

His eyes are wild when they meet hers, his hands clenching around nothing like he’s physically clinging to the present. “Can you-“ he stutters. “Where is-? I need Buck.” 

Hen is on her feet as quickly as she can without startling him. “I’ll find him, okay? You stay right here.” 

Downstairs, Buck’s holding the heavy bag for Chim, saying something that was probably meant to be encouraging but comes out more antagonistic. Their shift into being brothers has obviously been going well. They both stop in their tracks when they see the look on Hen’s face. 

“Eddie needs you.” It feels important to say it the way he did.

Another firework goes off then and Buck pales. “Oh, shit.” 

Then he’s taking the stairs two at a time with Hen and Chim not far behind. “Kitchen.” She calls after him. 

Eddie is where she left him, but now his hands are pressed against his ears. Buck squats down in front of him slowly, ducking his head so he can catch Eddie’s eye. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s me, I’m here.” He says, like it’s definitely not the first time.

He looks back and Hen and Chimney, whispers, “Can you guys sit with us a second?” 

They nod, taking their places off to the left across from them, backs against the kitchen counter. Close enough if they need help, far enough away to keep their bubble intact. Hen’s grateful for the direction, and when Bobby comes out of his office, she waves him over, finger to her lips. He doesn’t question it, just squats down on Hen’s other side. 

Eddie shudders, breathes hard out of his nose. Says, “Buck.” Real soft. 

Buck nods, scoots closer at the recognition, reaches out to run his fingertips feather-light over Eddie’s forearms. “You’re in LA, Eddie. At the 118.”

Eddie gasps like he’s just reached the surface of water. “Doesn’t- doesn’t feel like it.” 

Buck grimaces. “I know. I know, let’s go through it, okay?” 

Eddie nods, once, lets Buck take his hands and keep going. “I feel,” Buck prompts. 

Eddie closes his eyes. “Panicked.” 

Buck nods, soft look on his face like pride. It makes Hen’s eyes water. Their boy has grown up so much. 

“Because the fireworks made me think about,” 

“The chopper going down. Getting shot at while the fire was burning. Greggs.” Eddie grits out through bared teeth. 

Buck rubs his thumbs over the backs of Eddie’s hands. “But if I look around I can see,” 

Eddie forces his eyes open with what looks like immense effort, trains them on Buck for a solid ten seconds before he looks around the rest of the room. “You. The 118. Bobby. Hen. Chimney.” 

He looks at each of them in turn. Hen nods encouragingly, waves a little, which seems to increase the recognition on his face. 

Buck smiles at him. “Yeah, that’s good, real good.” 

Some of the tension seeps slowly from Eddie’s shoulders, and Buck rewards it with a squeeze of their joined hands. “Tell me what day it is.” 

Another firework goes off in the distance and Hen wants to murder someone. Bobby looks like he’d help her without a second thought. The fucking audacity to set off explosives when you live by a firehouse is astounding. 

Eddie winces but Buck stays firm with him, tapping his fingers rhythmically against Eddie’s knuckles. “What’s the date, Eds?” 

“Fourth of July.” 

“Exactly. Which means,” 

“Morons.” Eddie answers, rote, like he’s been trained. The way Buck’s handling him right now, Hen supposes he has been. 

“You got it.” He praises, pressing forward until his forehead rests against Eddie’s. “Chris was excited, though, remember?” 

“Poke cake.” Eddie responds and Bobby smiles. 

Midwestern traditions often mystify Hen, but Christopher was so excited to make that weird jello cake with Bobby and Buck that she couldn’t help but decide she loved that one. They spent all evening in Bobby and Athena’s kitchen last night, making gratuitously American dishes that should be objectively gross but that Denny and Chris were wild for. Poke cakes with red and blue jello, things being called “salad” that have never and will never be salad, and burgers that were always a welcome staple in Grant-Nash cookouts. 

Buck is tapping his fingers on Eddie’s knees now, alternating as he prods Eddie to talk him through Christopher’s latest science project. Bilateral brain stimulation, her brain provides. Works for most long-term trauma treatment but can also be helpful during flashbacks. Evan “Internet Research Extraordinaire” Buckley certainly hasn’t been a slouch in this endeavor. 

As he talks through Buck’s prompts, Eddie is slowly relaxing, sitting up on his own a bit more but shifting closer to Buck, tension slowly bleeding out of him as he points out the things he knows, the things he can see, what Bobby made for dinner, what Chimney’s favorite show is right now, what class he helped Hen run flashcards for. It makes Hen’s heart grow too big in her chest. To know that they’re a part of Eddie’s recovery, of him feeling safe. 

“Where are you, Eddie?” Buck asks again after a few minutes of this. They’re side by side now, shoulders brushing as they lean back against the island cabinets. 

Eddie takes a deep breath, sags a little against Buck. “I’m in LA. I’m at the 118 firehouse. You’re all here with me. Everyone’s safe.” 

Hen smiles encouragingly at him, Chim says, “We’re here for you, man.” 

Eddie looks away, mutters, “Esto es tan vergonzoso,” color staining his cheeks. 

“Nuh uh.” Buck answers, firm. “None of that. No tienes nada de que avergonzarte.” 

Hen knows Buck spent a while in Peru. Bartending, she thinks. She’s heard him speak Spanish to people on calls before, but his accent has historically been horrendous. It sounds like being in the Diaz orbit has been helpful for that. Hen doesn’t speak Spanish well, but she’s been in LA long enough to get the gist most of the time. 

“Sorry you guys had to see that.” Eddie apologizes anyway, ignoring Buck.

Bobby shuts that down immediately. “Everybody’s got their demons, Eddie. We’re just happy we can help with yours.” 

He tells Eddie he should take the rest of the night, even as Eddie protests that he’s fine and he doesn’t want to leave them hanging. “It’s just a few hours, Eddie. Take him home, Buck?” 

Buck nods, looking relieved that he didn’t have to ask permission. Eddie still looks a little mortified, but it’s tempered by Bobby’s careful hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“When do you think they’ll give in and just get married?” Chim asks after Buck bundles Eddie into his Jeep. 

Bobby snorts. “I’ve had the paperwork ready to go for years.”

Also on AO3

[nocternalrandomness]

"Trigger"

[consult-sherlockholmes]

Best night of the year for someone with combat-related PTSD and someone who is hypersensitive to loud noises and flashing lights. I do appreciate the fascinating chemistry and beauty of fireworks, but it's better in moderation than this excess of noise and explosions all night long.

[miscreantmermaid]

Reminder for fireworks averse folks

Charge your headphones if they're wireless! Line up some stuff to watch/listen to/play! Take care of yourself tonight! I know it's hard, but we're gonna get through the night together.

[eyeballdrawer]

I want to wish everyone a happy new year.

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

IMAGINE inviting Bucky to a fireworks display

It's your idea; you want to share the Diwali celebration with him, and you love the fireworks displays, the beautiful colors created by the ignition of different elements mixing together.

Bucky is quiet. Quieter than normal. He clutches your hand like it's his only lifeline. He startles at every explosion, every bright light makes him twitch, and the crowds make him feel like he is being suffocated.

It's only after he squeezes your hand harder than he intended that you notice the distress on his face. The way his eyes dart from side to side as if he is waiting for someone to pounce.

You have a pair of your earbuds in your pocket, which you slip into his ears, pairing them to your phone and turning up the volume until he can no longer hear the loud bangs.

He lets you lead him to the back of the crowd where you sit down and enjoy the rest of the show with his arms wrapped around your waist.

When it's all over, he holds you close. "Sorry about that. I know this is important to you."

"No, Buck, I'm the one who should be sorry," you apologize. "Next time, we can do something different."

[tuttle-did-it]

I HATE fireworks. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. They're horrible for the environment. They can start fires. A&Es are flooded with people who get hurt trying to set them off. It traumatises people like me who have C-PTSD that is set off by gunfire (thanks to living abroad in America for a few years, thanks America). Babies and the Elderly who struggle with noise are also affected, as are people who have disabilities set off by sound. It traumatises wildlife who cannot understand why there are explosions. It traumatises pets who cannot understand why their person is letting there be any explosions at all.

I HATE FIREWORKS. They absolutely ruin the autumn and Halloween for me, because every year, the stupid arseholes start setting them off every night a week before Halloween, and it continues until at least a week after Guy Fawkes. And then again the week of Christmas/New years.

I HATE FIREWORKS. Light shows are environmentally friendly, cause no disruption to wildlife or pets, are re-usable every year, and don't fucking explode for no reason.

DID I MENTION I HATE FIREWORKS

[tetedurfarm]

really trying to get ahead of the fourth of july shitshow this year. started pushing corid on every young or new rabbit in the barn; they'll have it well in their system by the time the fireworks start, and i might offer chamomile to the older ones that i'm not worried about getting ill from eating things off the ground. for the hoofies i bought a calming paste to try so that maybe this year i won't be shooting one of my goats the next day 🙃

unfriendly reminder that if you fire fireworks near livestock i hate you and i hope you get a really big boil directly on your asshole

[netscapenavigator-official]

American's really be like, "Let's celebrate our veterans by triggering their PTSD."