#how to fix a loose tooth

[emergencydentistuk]

Wobbly tooth, or the loosening of teeth, is a common dental condition that can affect individuals of all ages, but it is particularly prevalent in adults. While it is normal for children’s teeth to become slightly loose during the process of exfoliation and replacement by permanent teeth, persistent tooth mobility in adults is often an indicator of an underlying dental or systemic health issue. This article aims to explore the various etiologies of tooth mobility in the adult dentition, shedding light on the multifaceted factors that contribute to this phenomenon. Read: https://medium.com/@dentistlondonpro/the-wobble-factor-causes-of-loose-teeth-in-adults-ad6a389bd358

[snorpdawg]

How would the Isle of Bigsnax play out in the AU? I imagine Snorpy trying to kick flip over a giant Bugsnax.

I originally planned to respond with something more longform and elaborate, but the mental image of Snorpy doing a SICK KICKFLIP over a Cheddorb was too hilarious not to sketch. I strongly encourage you look at the sketch while listening to some punk-ska. Ideally Goldfinger.

[reveluving]

SHY WIFE AND PRICE....ARE YOU FREAKIN KIDDING ME!!!!!Imagine this Adonis of a man spoiling her from the first date and even her being shy, the 141(plus Kate) KNOW who's the boss( he ALWAYS have a photo and a story about Mrs.Price and it's just the cutest thing how his eyes light up that they also love her)

CUUUUUUTE AAAAAA!! GNAWING ON MY BARS RN!! And thank you for specifying the Adonis of a man bit! Can't forget about that!! ☝🏼😌💗

Includes: tooth-rotting fluff!

COD x shy!wife thots closed! Thank you, everyone, for your time & amazing minds! I sincerely hope I can do this again with y'all soon! 💌

Come & check out my COD m.list!

In any case of our beloved shy!wife fics, especially with his line of work, just expect your husband to have a polaroid or five of you ready.

And John is no different.

You must be a special one if you managed to catch the eyes of the captain, and to clarify, you are!

John knew there was no going back to his mundane yet chaotic lifestyle the second he asked you out. It took everything in him not to chuckle at your look of disbelief, your lips parting just a tad bit. He didn’t want you to think he was making fun of you, you were genuinely adorable with your expressiveness. And though had told him you were open to anything, even specifying that you wouldn’t mind anything small and simple, he didn’t let you.

He took you out to dinner on your first date, nothing too fancy, though that couldn’t be said the same on the later dates, gifted you a small but beautiful bouquet and the rest was history. 

And amazingly, he gets even better at spoiling you after he puts a ring on your finger. As if he wasn't already good since your first date!

Kisses or cakes, hugs or huge bouquets, he'll always find a way to spoil you. Because you—your smiles, giggles and laughs, your time and your love for him means so much.

More than you can imagine.

A sweetheart, a gentleman. You couldn’t ask for a better man to fall for you, though, like him, you were mind-blown to even think a man, no, a hunk like him showed interest in you. Made you feel wanted, special—someone he wanted to be with with zero hesitation. 

He wouldn’t be able to forget your shy smile, how you’d mindlessly trail your fingers across the table or your lap out of embarrassment, how your fingers curled around his hand, despite averting your gaze from his cheeky smile many dates later.

And though the wedding was small, to him, it felt like a sweet fairytale.

To finally be able to call you Mrs Price.

Laswell had the privilege to meet you first before everyone else. She enjoys the sisterly moments you’d have, a breath of fresh air from the craziness, to say the least, that she has to witness in her lifetime. Always appreciates you checking in on her via messages or if she’s lucky, a quick call. And it becomes a tradition of hers to jokingly remind John to take care of you and not to drive you crazy.

And then, there were the boys.

Johnny was the one who asked about you, catching the man looking at one of the polaroids of you with nothing but love in his eyes. Longing to get it over with and come home to you. Johnny didn’t think he’d be willing to talk about you at all, let alone more than a few sentences, i.e. privacy reasons or he just prefers to be on his own. Take in the quiet moment before any hell breaks loose later on.

Understandable, so imagine not only his surprise but also the rest of the 141 when he talks about you. First, with pure endearment in his tone, then the story gets romantic, cheesier even, but all three of them listened to his stories like no other (read: a father telling his kids how he met their mother), even if they acted like they were just casually fixing their weapons or thinking to themselves.

C’mon, he knows them!

Like John, you treat the boys like your very own. If Johnny, Kyle or Simon wanted to be doted over—to be cared for, something they haven’t felt in a while even if some of them wouldn’t want to admit it, then you’d give them millions! Even something as little as a handwritten message or passing them a few words i.e. take care and good luck via John.

Visiting the Price’s house now feels like a family thing. Again, it’s cheesy, it’s corny, and maybe even childish to some, for a bunch of men to be looking forward to these visits like a child being away from their parents at a dorm during college, none of you cared. Not you. Not John. And most importantly, not his boys.

None of them could have imagined your words to stick in their minds in dire times. A little motivation to return safely. Back to the base, for John, and back the Price’s home, for you.

“Johnny, I’m out of a few things in the kitchen. Could you drop by the store and get these for me, please?” “Can do!”

“Simon, have you seen John’s car keys? I can’t find them anywhere.” “I can help look for it w’you.”

“Kyle, I told you I can handle the fireplace.” “S’not that hard. Don’t worry!”

Home.

Bonus: A lil’ story I’m still working on with the COD men + dogs includes John with an American Akita. Similar to Phillip and Kai, John’s gigantic pupper tends to prefer listening to you to him.

His intolerance for certain people or animals drops in an instant the second he sees you, turning into a baby (your baby, might John add) but he also knows when duty calls. Ears tilting back and growling at a stranger who doesn’t know, or worse; ignores that you're taken.

And in John’s words: good boy.

˚ · . f i n . · ˚

[idkfitememate]

Still tired but just wanted to remind you that the Obey Me Brothers (- Satan + Lilith) were probably the “Seven Heavenly Virtues” before they fell/died and that was probably so hard for them like-

Lucifer going from Humility to Pride

Mammon going from Charity to Greed

Leviathan going from Kindness to Envy

Asmodeus going from Chastity to Lust

Beelzebub going from Temperance to Gluttony

And Belphegor going from Diligence to Sloth

Imagine as Lucifer going through it because now you can’t talk with your brothers, now you hold them to an expectation you would’ve never before - and yourself to an even higher one - and watching them loose themselves to their sins.

Watching Mammon lose himself to monetary values to the point where he’d be willing to sell his own brothers out if it came to it, and knowing that at some point he would’ve sold his everything because he believed it was right. Shit thing is that he still loves his brothers, and under the greed is guilt for hurting them like this.

Watching Levi, once a kind and loving man who would never leave anyone out become a self deprecating and destructive mess who shuts the world out. Who spends his time obsessing over what others have that he can’t and fighting tooth and nail to fix that, even if it hurts him. He, like Lucifer, has to be the best at his chosen craft or else it’s all for naught, but unlike Lucifer he’s very vocal about his losses and how much he hates others who have better than him.

Asmo, who at one point was basically repulsed at the idea of carnal love and wanted to wait, to hold out until he found the one he was searching for. Believe if that saving himself for his future partner was the ultimate act of love. And now watching him fall to depravity, unable to feel love unless it’s carnal in some sense. Everything must be passionate, with little room for true love. Feelings pushed aside for the heat of the moment, giving his body away to feel something. Finding no worth in himself unless it’s his body, and that translating over to how he treats his brothers. They have to suck up his shockingly flirty remarks to them because he can’t help it, that’s how he’s forced to show love now; fast, rushed, and carnal.

Watching Beel, a man who took everything in moderation, never allowing himself more than what he needed in food and drink in favor of helping others, loose himself to the mind numbing pleasure of sitting there and eating and drinking and eating and drinking and eating and drinking with no end in sight. As he can’t help himself but do anything for a meal, much like Mammon. Willing to do damn near anything to fill the hole in his stomach. No matter the cost.

And Belphy. A man once so awake and alert and ready for anything that even Lucifer would have to tell him to take a break. Always raring and ready to go and help any and everyone in need sleep his days away. Too lazy to do basic tasks at some points like eat. Lazing about too tired to do anything, including care for those around him. Too tired to do anything.

And the haunting truth that you, as Lucifer, created Wrath. Satan, your youngest brother in age and fourth in power. Knowing on the daily that he puts on a mask, a front so that his rage doesn’t consume him in an all burning inferno. Knowing that any little thing could set him off, and that’d be it. He shares next to nothing with you and your brothers because, while unspoken, it’s known that he’ll never be as close as the six of you. He didn’t experience the war, he didn’t experience the fall, he didn’t experience her death. Unlike your brothers who have all changed in some distressing way he’s always been rage. Always been Wrath. A true sin through and through. Never will you experience the same things and that keeps you separated.

And about her, to know deep in your heart that she, the Virtue of Patients, would’ve become the Sin of Wrath keeps you up at night, her face of smiles turning to a wrathful frown scares you. Nightmares flash behind your eyes of her being mad, furious even, so you starve the nights off with a never ending pile of paperwork and coffee.

… Did I just accidentally character study?-

[fic-over-cannon]

Words Left Unsaid

jason todd x f!reader

ao3 link

summary: jason todd is your childhood best friend. he dies before his Words come in, the first words his soulmate will say to him, and you have to pick up the pieces.

tags: soulmate au, major character death (temporary), grief

rated mature | wc: 8.8k

a/n: so this monster of a story was based on an ask i sent to @jasonsmirrorball a while back (don’t read for spoilers). it pretty much took on a life of its own, and now here we are nearly 9k later. it does get pretty dark in its exploration of grief, so please take care of yourselves my lovelies.

Everyone’s born with Words somewhere on their body, unreadable at first. The skin is shiny, like an old scar, the words blurry and undefined. One day, you’ll see the first words you’ll ever hear your soulmate say to you, that shiny patch of skin blooming like ink (there’s superstitions about the colour your Words fade into, as popular as astrology). The trick of the thing is, you won’t find out what your Words are until you’ve become the person who is meant to hear them. You could meet your soulmate a hundred times and not know it, not until you’ve both grown into the people you need to be. The youngest person to get their Words was seven, and the oldest 92 years young. Or so the stories go. When you’re young, still poking at your loose front tooth with your tongue, it’s a story that comforts you. It’s the story you beg your parents for before bed every night. It’s the carrot they use to get you to try new things and go new places. What if you meet your soulmate at the new movie theatre downtown? How do you know eating your veggies won’t develop you into who your soulmate needs you to be?

It’s what your mother uses to try and coax you out of the car for your first day at a new school. She’s driven you to school for your first day, a one off so she can finish up your admittance paperwork. In this moment you hate her for it. It’s February and the year is more than halfway over. The snow has melted into dirty grey slush in the streets and the pinching Mary Janes the school mandates as part of the uniform are going to provide no protection. It’s halfway through the year and you’re certain no one is going to be your friend at a new school in a new city. You’re twelve years old and to you this is the end of the world. You’re trying so hard not to cry, hugging yourself together and burying your chin in your chest.

“Come on, honey, this is a school. It’ll help you become who you need to be.”

Your mother’s voice is cajoling, trying to coax you out the same way she coaxed a stray cat into her arms. It worked on the cat, now named Haley after the comet, but it doesn’t work on you. She tries to catch your eye in the rear view mirror but you stubbornly turn your head to look out the window instead.

“Please. Work with me here. We’ll go in together, you’ll have a wonderful day and make so many friends. And after school, I’ll take you out for donuts and you can tell me all about it before your Dad gets home.”

You keep silent, continue to stare out the window at all the other kids walking into the building.

“Honey, please. Can you just do this one thing for me, please.”

She’s almost begging now, and you hate the way it makes her sound. You want to tell her how scared you are, how there’s nothing more you want to do except huddle under your covers in your unfamiliar bed and hold Haley close. But your fear is a hot ball in your chest, choking off any words that might come out. You look at her though, plead with her with your eyes to understand how much you don’t want to do this. She stares back at you, an exhausted slump to her shoulders and lines around her eyes you don’t remember being there. Slowly, you unwrap your arms from around your rib cage. Place a hand on each knobbly knee and slowly curl them into fists before nodding, once, sharply, eyes firmly fixed on the car seat in front of you. Your eyes burn, but the sigh of relief your mother heaves out is worth it.

Gotham Academy is housed in a collection of gothic stone buildings which should have been strange in a large city like Gotham but weirdly works. You just think it’s creepy. Head down, you follow your mother’s back weaving through the crowds of students. You don’t want to see the stares, but you can already feel them boring into you. Sitting in the secretary’s office, you pick at invisible lint on your knitted tights. You know your mother’s having a conversation with the secretary but it all flies over your head in shushing murmurs. Your back aches from the overstuffed chair. The Mary Janes do pinch, makes you worried that you’ve already twisted your ankles from the way they throb.

“I’ve got to get to work now sweet pea, but I just now you’re going to have a great first day. I’ll pick you up at 4:00 and we can go get those donuts okay?”

Your mother’s crouched down in front of you, eyes searching your face for any kind of reaction. She looks worried and that’s what causes you to crack. You fling yourself out of the chair and into her arms, allow yourself one great heaving sob into her shoulder. She strokes your hair and hushes you, squeezes you tight like she could make you part of her.

“Oh honey. Everything’s scary right now but I promise it’s not going to stay that way. I believe in you and you’re going to get through this.”

You draw back from her, scrub at your face with your fists. Heaving breaths don’t help but they don’t make it worse. You go with the secretary, new schedule twisted tight in your hands. She lets you discard your coat and backpack in a locker, before walking you to your new homeroom. You only hope that you’ll remember the locker combination.

You hate the way your new homeroom teacher makes you stand at the front of the room. Mr. Mulligan won’t let you sit down until you introduce yourself to the class, a thing he could have done so easily himself. Pulling at your sleeves and trying not to make eye contact with anyone, you stutter out a few basic facts. Hate the way you can feel the other students catalogue you, the way your hair doesn’t look shiny and straight like its fresh out of a salon, your too small shoes, the unfashionably long length of your skirt and the lack of designer accessories. Your cheeks and eyes are burning by the time you can slide down into your assigned seat near the back of the class. There’s only one other person sitting in your row, a boy with dark curling hair and a shy grin. He leans over to your desk just Mr. Mulligan starts the lecture.

Whispers, “Hi! My name’s Jason. I already know your name, figured if we’re going to be seat mates its only fair you know mine.”

You smile tightly and turn back to the lesson. You’re desperate not to miss anything, already feeling like you’ve been left behind. At your old school, you were in the middle of The Great Gatsby, but Gotham Academy is doing Romeo and Juliet for their seventh grade English class. You don’t have the play book, have no idea what part of the text they’re talking about, and this is the first time you’ve actually heard Shakespeare read out loud. Writing as fast you can, you try to keep up but it doesn’t matter how good your notes are if you don’t understand what the teacher’s talking about.

Usually you love English class, how uncovering symbolism and hidden meanings make you feel like you’re uncovering secret messages sent by the authors years in the past. Now it’s all going over your head and you hate it here so much already. The one class that you might have been looking forward to and you’re overwhelmed by it. You press too hard with your pencil, tear through the sheet of paper in front of you.

A notebook slides across your desk. Messy but legible writing on the first few scenes of the Act are written on it. Looking in the direction it came from, you make eye contact with Jason. He grins toothily before turning back to the front, Mr. Mulligan having moved on to a different quotation. The gesture makes your chest tight.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully if still a challenge. There’s a short break between classes in which you frantically copy down the notes and slide the notebook back to him before your next teacher arrives. The next class isn’t so bad, still difficult and you’ve never liked math as much as you probably should, but it’s less intimidating than English. Someone must have fiddled with the thermostat during the break because the room feels colder than before. You wish you were on your old school’s schedule with shorter classes and more breaks. Sitting still for so long at your desk is making your back ache and cramp up. Math is almost over, Miss Lewis writing out the assigned homework on the board, when a wave of something comes over you. It’s an effort of will not to curl up on your desk.

The bell rings for lunch break and you just about bolt to the first bathroom you can find. Something’s wrong with you, more than just nerves over the first day. You’re cold but you’re sweating, nausea burning at the back of your throat. The ache in your back and stomach are almost unbearable, makes you want to curl into the fetal position to ward off invisible blows. Rolling down your tights in a hurry, you sit down on the cold toilet as fast as you can. Your hand is wet, and for a moment you worry that you’d lost control of your bladder on the way to the bathroom. But the stain on your hand is dark, matches the blood slick crotch of your panties. You hang your head and can feel the tears you’ve been holding onto all morning drop onto the floor. Just another thing you can’t control in this shitty new town and its stupid new school. Your first period.

The bathroom is cold, hard tile under your feet and wintery sunlight weak through the windows near the ceiling. The blood on your fingers is cold and tacky now. There’s a boundary here, between childhood and being an adult that you aren’t ready to cross yet. I want my mom, you think, only on the edge of hysteria. But she’s at work, wouldn’t be able to come if you called.

So you do what needs to be done, stop your tears as best as you can and sniffle. Wipe your face clean with the back of your sleeve and do your best to dab at your underwear with the single ply toilet paper. Layer sheets of toilet paper between your tights and underwear, build a makeshift pad in your sort-of dry underwear out of toilet paper and hope that it will hold up. Luckily you’ve escaped staining the regulation uniform skirt, so no one should be able to tell what happened. You get transfixed by the swirls of blood washing down the sink drain, hands gone numb under the stream of water. Splash cold water on your face in the vain hope it’ll calm down your puffy eyes. As ready as you can be in this situation, you eye yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to get moving before the bell for third period rings.

The boy from the back row is waiting outside the classroom for you. He looks nervous until he sees you, lights up with that shy smile again.

“Hi! I uh noticed you weren’t at lunch today so I grabbed you an apple in case you didn’t grab anything to eat.”

He’s babbling on about the cafeteria food not being that bad if you’d just try it, even though finding a table the first time can be rough. All you can do is stare at the apple in his hands, transfixed. You’re only shaken out of your stupor by the sound of him calling your name.

“So… are you going to take it? The bell’s going to ring soon and the teachers really don’t like us eating during class.”

“Thank you,” you say, genuinely shocked and touched.

He goes a little bashful at that, looks away as you take the apple from him. The apple’s good, sweet and crisp under your teeth. You make quick work of it in the hallway, finishing it up just as the bell rings. Jason stands right in front of you the whole time, hides you from the penetrating eyes of your classmates.

“All done? We should probably find our seats now. Monty,” and here he adopts a snooty British accent, “Archibald the Third is a real stickler for being on time. He’ll mark you late if you’re not sitting in your seat, even if you’re in the classroom.”

His impression makes you snicker and forget, just for a moment, how miserable you are. Mr. Archibald the Third is just as ridiculous as Jason’s impression of him predicted, but you get through it by making eye contact with Jason over the most ridiculous moments. Mr. Archibald really does have you call him “the Third”. It’s probably got something to do with his Words, a flowing script running vertically down the side of his face reading, “The Third, dear God how many of you are there?”. History with Mr. Archibald manages to be fun despite his absurd demeanor and your own private hurt seeming less terrible for a few scattered moments.

The final class of the day drags on, the pain in your front and back growing. Your hand moves across the page but your mind isn’t really paying attention. There’s a commotion as people gather their things and stand, already streaming out the door. You blink, stupefied, then slowly gather your things.

“Same time, same place tomorrow then?”

“—Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow Jason.”

Your mother’s waiting for you in front of the school, car idling puffs of smoke into the darkening afternoon. Your backpack lands in the back seat and you crush your face into her coat across the console. Her hands come to your back, patting and rubbing circles until your breath comes in long, even draws.

“Honey I’m so proud of you. Your first day done! Let’s go celebrate, hmm? How was it? Did you make any new friends?”

“Can we get the donuts to go? I— uh, um I— I might have started my period today?”

Your voice lifts on the end of the sentence, suddenly absurdly worried about her reaction. You needn’t have worried though.

“Oh sweet pea, on your first day too? We can go home, get you a bath and something for your cramps.”

“No, I just really want to go get donuts with you because today kind of sucked and I’ll still feel kinda shitty but at least then I get donuts while I feel bad.”

“No more swearing and we’ll get a whole box to go, okay?”

Lying in bed that night, wrapped around a hot water bottle with Haley on your feet, you think that your day wasn’t that bad. It could have been a lot worse, and Jason was surprisingly nice. You stare at the shiny patch of skin on your wrist and hope that one day it will all be worth it. You drift off to the thought of blue eyes.

For the rest of that week you join Jason at his corner in the cafeteria. Between Math and History you slowly start to get to know one another. He offers to let you borrow his notes for the upcoming test in English, gets a little sheepish when he mentions that he practically knows the content by heart anyway. Jason’s sweet and funny and by Friday you two are the best of friends.

Once your mother is confident that you can handle the commute to school on your own, she doesn’t mind if you’re home late as long as you send a text first. Something about socializing with more kids your age being good for you, not that you’re listening too distracted in the haze of victory. So the two of you hang out after school, the city your shared playground. Jason treats you to your first chili dog and laughs when you get some on your nose. In revenge, you dare him to cover his lunch in chili oil at lunch the next day. The way Mr. Archibald threatens you both with detention for being disruptive is so worth it.

It’s not until the middle of April that you get the courage to ask Jason why you. Why out of everyone in the school he chose to reach out to the new kid and make her his friend. It’s probably the most personal thing you’ve asked him yet.

“It’s ‘cause no one else would’ve. Most of the kids here, their families founded Gotham and they’re not keen on outsiders. Most of the scholarship kids, they start at the same time, form a group so the rich kids don’t pick on them so much.” He pauses here, has to look away before he goes on. “Most of the others don’t like me ‘cause I don’t really fit into either category, you know? Like my dad’s a big name in Gotham but he only just adopted me so I’m not really one the rich kids but he’s doing more than just paying my school fees. You looked just as lonely as I was,” here he turns to grin, “and I wasn’t going to give up an opportunity to make someone carry my lunch tray.”

“Hey, idiot, if I remember right it was you bringing me lunch the first time.” You shove at him indignantly, but he dodges too quickly for you.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can’t remember, on account of me being an idiot.” He flicks you on the tip of the nose and goes running.

And then it’s on. You chase him around the park, laughing and swearing to get your revenge on him. The two of you collapse breathlessly onto a mostly dry patch of dirt under a skeletal tree. Staring up at the sky and trying to catch your breath, you feel Jason nudge at your should beside you.

“So what about you? What brought you to the happiest place on earth?”

“My dad got headhunted for a promotion. He’s researching something for Wayne Industries and all of us had to move here for it. So mom gets a new job and I get transferred to a new school.” You sit up suddenly, look down at Jason lying in the grass. “Promise not to tell anyone?” You wait for him to nod first before continuing. “I only got into Gotham Academy because of my dad. I heard him and my mom arguing about it; he made it part of his contract that I’d get to go to school there if he accepted the job.”

“So? I’m only at GA because of my dad too. You think a kid from Crime Alley gets to go to private school without a little nepotism?”

You slump back down on to the grass, stretch a hand out to the sky and look up at it.

“To nepotism I guess.”

A hand reaches up to the sky next to yours. Slowly, ever so slowly he reaches a pinky out and links it with yours.

“To two misfits only here because of nepotism.”

School lets out in June, the city air ridiculously hot and humid. You can’t say that you’ve made any good friends outside of Jason, but there’s some girls you say hello to in the halls. You mourn not being able to see Jason everyday, but the plans you have to meet up are enough to soothe the ache.

He takes you to an arcade first, the two of you spending hours trying to beat each other at Pac Man. Tired but happy you split a basket of fries at the attached cafeteria. You’re enjoying the greasy fried goodness of the snack but you notice Jason isn’t reaching for the basket as quickly as you are. Looking over at him, you notice him staring at a pair of brothers playing a game. The younger whoops, jumps up and down in excitement. The older one ruffles his brother’s hair and challenges him to a new round. You toss a fry in Jason’s direction, surprised when he actually manages to catch it.

“You good?”

“—Yeah. It’s just, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it? But I kind of have an older brother and he was supposed to take me to the arcade last weekend but he got in a fight with Dad and just left.”

“That’s a real dick move, ditching you over his issues.” At that, Jason breaks out in hysterical laughter, almost choking on the fry in his mouth. There are tears in his eyes by the time he stops coughing but he looks slightly less like a kicked puppy.

“It really, really was. You don’t know how much it was.”

Happy that the mood has lifted, the two of you finish off the basket of fries. You challenge Jason to Dance Dance Revolution and he wipes the floor with you. He’s way more athletic than you’d expected from him. The two of you part ways happy, already planning your next hang out. It is enough.

You meet up almost every week that summer. Jason shows you the Gotham he knows, little hidden gems only locals know about. A movie theatre that only shows movies made before 1980, a diner with the best milkshakes you’ve ever tasted, the best places in the public library to read undisturbed. Teaches you about the safest places to evacuate when disaster hits, which parts of the city are most dangerous. The park and its chili dog stand quickly become a favourite for you, a place to just hang out without any responsibilities. It also becomes a kind of confessional of sorts, where you end up telling each other your worst fears and secret hopes.

You confess once, after riding out your first Rogue attack with your fingers buried in Jason’s T-shirt, that you’re worried you’ll never feel at home again. That you can never go back now to your old house and feel at home there now, but that Gotham still feels too alien to be called home yet. Your darkest fear, that you’ll end up alone one day, deserted by everyone that you know and love. Jason tells you about his fears that one day all of this, Bruce and Alfred, the manor, school, will disappear one day. That the big brother he looks up to will never start to like him. Every time the two of you bare your souls to each other, Jason will hook his pinky over yours and squeeze. It’s a friendship built on shared secrets, on fears assuaged, and worries made better.

Your last year of middle school is largely uneventful. You got to classes, have lunch with Jason, hang out after class with Jason, text Jason. You get into a routine and that brings you comfort. There’s a slight period of awkwardness right before the 8th grade formal. A weird tension envelopes you both, the nebulous question of if you’re going together hanging over you. You don’t like it, the way Jason seems almost hesitant in all your conversations these days. It sets your teeth to itching and you can’t stand it anymore.

Slamming down your textbook, you say “Okay that’s it. I can’t stand whatever this is. You and I are going to the formal as friends. We’ll get all dressed up and if it’s lame we can ditch and go get Batburgers.”

“Oh thank God. I didn’t want to say anything in case it made it awkward but then it was just getting more awkward and then I just didn’t know what to do.”

The party is lame, but the burgers make up for it. Your dress is nice though. Your mother helped you pick it out, the fitted bodice and loose swing of the skirt making you feel passably pretty. It’s been hard to feel pretty with the way your body’s changed over the year, hips widening and chest starting to grow in ways you can’t predict. Jason cleans up nice, though whoever slicked back his hair went overboard on the gel. You pose for a picture all dressed up together, faces pulled into silly expressions, your burgers held in front of you like trophies. You pin a copy of the photo up in your bedroom. It makes you smile every time you see it, something warm in your chest.

The first day of high school brings back those first day jitters. You’re not even transferring schools, just switching to a different building and still your palms are sweating. It’s not until you see Jason, sitting in the back row with an empty seat behind him that you can release the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. It’s different teachers and different subjects, but in some ways it’s like the day you met again. Scribbling notes until your hands cramp, Jason passing you notes in class, struggling to keep up with what the teachers are saying. At lunch, you and Jason even split an apple between you. It’s terrifying and familiar and all the more bearable because you aren’t going through it alone.

High school is different. Everyone’s more aware of each other in ways they weren’t in middle school. Girls wear brighter lip glosses and flaunt the shiny spaces where their marks will come in. Boys douse themselves in too much body spray and start eyeing up anything that moves. But through out it all, your friendship remains the same. Something about high school solidifies things, has you go from You and Jason to YouandJason. At school you’re a unit, almost impossible to think of you as separate beings. After school, you still spend time together, still explore the city, still message all the time. But you’ve still never been to each other’s houses. Never met each other’s families yet.

Jason offers, once, to have you over to the manor during the winter break, but you’re not keen on it. Crinkle up your nose and ask to think about it.

“It’s not that I don’t want to see you over the holiday, or meet your family Jason. It’s just that I kind of like the way things are? My family knows that you’re my best friend, they’ve seen pictures of us, but the way things are now, you’re still entirely mine. Our friendship’s just for us. Meeting your family kind of changes that.”

“I like us being us. But would it really be that different to come hang out for a few hours? You could come over when Dad’s out and it’d just be me and Alfred.”

Eventually you agree, spend an afternoon with Jason at the manor to cram for your next round of tests. Mr. Pennyworth is lovely, keeps bringing snacks up to the library as an excuse to check up on you. Bent over your books, you miss the significant looks Alfred is sending Jason over your head and the blush that lights up his face in response. Mr. Wayne is thankfully not home. You’re not sure you could have handled meeting Jason’s grandfather and father in the same visit.

Jason makes it over to your apartment a few times over the spring semester. Your father’s always working, but your mother likes him well enough. She makes him stay over for dinner, won’t let him leave without feeding him first. She calls him a nice boy and tells him to come back any time. Still, you two prefer going out to coffee shops or the library to hang out, uninterrupted by well-meaning adults.

It’s on one of those summer nights, the two of you some of the last people in the public library, that the subject of your Words comes up. The skin across your left wrist catches the warm light of the lamps in a way that’s distracting. You’re startled by the feeling of fingers tracing featherlight over still-shiny skin.

“You ever wonder it about it sometimes? What it’ll say or who’ll say it?” The tone is unreadable but Jason’s voice is above the whisper he usually uses in the library, but with so few people around you figure there’s no harm in mimicking his volume.

“I used to. I was obsessed with Words when I was little. Couldn’t go to sleep without hearing about them as a bed time story.”

“Used to?” And Jason’s fingers are still there, drawing maddening little patterns across the thin skin of your wrist.

“Well, I’ve got other things to think about now, things that are actually within my control.”

Jason presses down, gently, with the broad of his thumb on your pulse. You snatch back your wrist, cradle it to your chest, uncertain of how intimate that gesture felt.

“Fair’s fair. I showed you mine, now you’ve gotta show me yours.” Your tone is teasing, trying to capture the earlier lightness of the afternoon.

“Oh I do, do I?”

He reaches for the top button on his uniform button down, starts undoing two more. Horrified, you reach across the table and grab at his hands.

“What are you doing?! You can’t just go around stripping in public!” Your hissed whisper may not have been said at all for all the impact it makes. Jason shakes off your hands and goes back to undoing his shirt.

“Not all of us are blessed with easily accessible Words. Relax, I just have to get the shirt wide enough to show how far the Words will go.”

Across his collarbone is a thin strip of shiny skin, reaching from one side of his neck to the other like a necklace. Whatever it will say looks pretty lengthy for someone’s Words. Mesmerized, you reach out to trace it with your fingertips. Jason shifts back before you can make contact.

“Gotta buy me dinner first sweetheart. I’m a classy lady like that.”

You flush at the term of endearment, but cover it with indignation.

“Hey! What do you call the tacos I bought for us yesterday?”

He laughs it off and the tense moment is broken. You pack up your things, smiling at the ground. You like the way sweetheart sounds coming from Jason, not that you’d give him that to tease you with. Despite how much you tell each other, there’s one secret you haven’t told him yet. That privately you hope your Words will be his. It’s so easy to fall in love with Jason, or at least what passes for love at this age. The light in his eyes when he rants about the latest book he’s read, when he shares the biscuits Alfred packs for him, the way he listens to you so intently even if he doesn’t have all the answers. You can admit to yourself that you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend, but never out loud. Your friendship is one of the most important things in your life and you are terrified of destroying it.

You don’t see Jason much after that, that summer. Your texts and calls still get answered, but he’s frustratingly vague about meeting up. He says that his dad has him in a kind of summer school, wants him to learn from private tutors before school starts up in the Fall again. Asking about what it is that he’s supposed to learn (his marks are already incredibly good) makes him cagey about it. You don’t want to push, but it feels like he’s pulling away from you. Phone calls get shorter, sentences more clipped. Your offers to just drop by the manor to see him get turned down automatically. It’s the longest you’ve gone without seeing him since you’ve met. You’re terrified that he’s done with you. That for some unnameable reason he’s decided to end your years of friendship and there’s nothing you can do to stop it from happening. Gotham seems colder without Jason at your side, the dangers more obvious and your usual haunts less welcoming.

Finally, after nearly two months you manage to pin him down, get him to agree to meet the day after his birthday. Your heart is in your mouth as you wait for him on a bench in the park. There’s a trickle of sweat running down your back. It’s a hot day but the park is a lush green, an after effect from an Ivy attack the night before. You release your grip on your present for Jason, smooth the envelope and hope you didn’t crease it with your sweaty fingers. A voice is calling your name.

Jason’s been changed by the weeks apart. He’s a few inches taller now, filled out in the shoulders more. You have to crane your neck back to see his face. The anxiety in you is reflected in his face, the way he nervously runs his fingers through his hair, his darting eyes. Uncertain how to proceed, you thrust the envelope out between you.

“Happy Birthday.”

“I— thank you.”

There’s silence again, and the awkwardness between you is a tangible thing. It’s worse than it was in eighth grade only this time you don’t know how to bridge the gap. You look down at your shoes, the toes scuffed.

“I’m sorry for ignoring you.” It comes out of him in a rush. “I’ve been a really shitty friend lately. Just, all summer my dad’s been on me about studying with these private tutors except they’re all friends with Dick so nothing I do can ever be good enough in comparison and every day I’ve felt like crap but I didn’t want you to see me like this which only made me feel worse ‘cause then I basically had to avoid you all the time which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do and all I wanted to do was have you tell me there’s nothing wrong with me and they can all go kick dirt but then I’d have to talk to you about it which I wasn’t ‘cause I was already embarrassed.” He has to pause here to catch his breath, words running together at the speed which he was going.

“You planning to breathe any time soon?”

He deflates, collapses onto the bench next to you, an arm tucked around his right side awkwardly holding the card so it doesn’t get crushed. You sigh, heavily.

“I thought you didn’t want to be friends anymore.” Your confession is barely above a whisper. You can’t even look at him as you say it.

“I didn’t— I wouldn’t. I need you to know that I never, ever don’t want to be your friend okay? I was an idiot. I’m sorry.”

“Promise not to cut me out again and that you won’t take out your own issues on our friendship, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving you.”

“Pinky promise.”

Jason places the card in his lap, goes to link your fingers together, then winces at the movement of his arm. Suddenly sirens are going off in your brain.

“What’s wrong with your side?”

“Nothing, must have just pulled a muscle or something.” He tries to laugh it off nervously, but you can tell when he’s lying. His eyes dart to the left over your head, knee bounces almost imperceptibly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you know he’s not telling you the truth.

“You can’t even go a full minute without cutting me out! Jason, I know something is wrong. Now tell me.”

He hesitates, and you’ve had it with the lies and the avoidance and the being kept in the dark. You fingers go to the hem of his shirt and you start tugging.

“Hey! Wh-what are you doing?”

He tries to squirm away, batting at your hands but you get his shirt up far enough to see the bruise on his ribs in the shape of a boot. It’s purple going a sickly yellow, mottled and stark against the dips of his ribs. You can feel all the blood drain from your face. Jason’s pushed up against the far side of the bench, pulling his shirt down with shaking hands.

“Jason. Jason if someone is hurting you, you need to tell someone. If it's your dad or one of the tutors, we can find someone to tell together.”

“No one— no one’s hurting me, all right? I just didn’t get out of the way fast enough during a Rogue attack. I didn’t want to worry you, that’s all. No one’s abusing me, okay?”

“But you’d tell me if they were?”

“I tell you everything important.”

It’s not enough, not nearly for you. From the look in his eyes Jason knows this too, but its all he’s willing to give. There’s a crossroads in your relationship here, a road where you push and push until you get the full story but shatter the tattered strands of your friendship or you accept that you’ll never have all of Jason but maybe your friendship will survive. So you do what needs to be done.

“Okay. If you say that’s what happened then I trust you.”

It’s a low blow, to twist your trust in him like a knife, but it’s your only way to express your frustration with him. You gesture to the envelope, fishing around to change the subject.

“So you going to open that or what?”

And just like that, there’s a new normal. You see Jason everyday in class but he begs off your after school hangouts as often as you two actually spend time together. Conversation is stilted, hidden undercurrents to them of subjects neither one of you wants to address. You’re wary, suspicious of every bump and bruise Jason shows up with. The ease to your friendship has gone, disappeared to the realm of the past.

At the end of October, Jason becomes obsessed with the news. Keeps checking headlines and obituaries, fearful like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. The death of Felipe Garzonas makes the news and the tension in Jason ratchets up. He’s irritable, stops paying attention in classes, blows up when you try to feel out what’s wrong. He’s apologetic every time, promises it won’t happen again until you eventually stop trying to ask questions. Hope that your presence is enough to steady him through whatever it is that is tormenting him.

He asks you once, if you’d believe in his word, no matter what the evidence of something told you otherwise. You tell him you would, always, but that answer doesn’t seem to make a difference.

Winter break comes and goes, without an invitation to visit this time. If anything, Jason comes back more irritable and closed lipped. Mutters something about a fight over Christmas dinner, his brother and Bruce clashing over something. You’re worried about him all the time now. He’s more reckless with himself, won’t look before crossing the road, reacts aggressively to every perceived challenge, throws things when he gets frustrated. He’s changing into someone you don’t recognize in front of your eyes.

April comes and there’s a new light in his eyes. It’s manic and hopeful and the first emotion you’ve seen in him other than fear in months. He won’t tell you what it is, just that there’s something new he’s found out, something about his mother. This time you hope, fingers crossed and a wish on every star that whatever has brought him this hope won’t hurt him.

On Monday, Jason doesn’t come to school. He doesn’t answer your messages or pick up any of your calls. Even when he’s been out sick he at least lets you know. On Tuesday you get called into the office in the middle of first period. You haven’t been back to the secretary’s office since the day you enrolled. The seats are still as overstuffed as you remember. The secretary is the same, a few more grey streaks in her perfectly set hair. Her eyes are red, and she’s got one of those old fashioned handkerchiefs in her hands.

“I’ve got some bad news honey, and I— I think it would be best if you sit down for it.”

“Oh— will this take long? Only I got pulled out of class and we’re reviewing for the exam next week.”

“Oh honey.” She has to pause to dab at her eyes before continuing. “You’re going to be excused from all exams next week, okay? I need you to know that the school will do whatever we can to support you through this.”

Now, now you are scared. “Support me through what? It’s not my mom is it?”

“Honey it’s Jason, Jason Todd. I’m so sorry but he passed away yesterday. I’ve contacted your parents and your mother is on the way to come pick you up.”

Her words don’t make any sense.

“But he can’t be. I saw him on Saturday. There’s been a mistake. He’s not dead.” Your legs don’t work anymore and you hit the couch, hard, sliding off the overstuffed pillows to kneel on the floor. You don’t feel any of it. There’s copper in your mouth, you must have bitten your tongue on the way down but you can’t feel it. There’s movement in your peripheries, and your mother crouches down into your field of vision.

“Mom, mom they made a mistake. She’s— she’s saying that Jason’s dead, but he can’t be. Mom he’s not dead.”

“Sweet pea, I’m so, so sorry. It’s been on the news all morning.”

It rips through you then, grief. Sobs shake your whole body, your mother doing her best to hold you together. There’s a roaring in your ears like you’re caught in a vacuum. You can’t see through the tears. Your body is trembling violently and you can’t care enough to try and stop it. Nothing matters anymore. Jason’s dead.

To get to the car, your mother has to half carry you. There’s no point in moving. You’re not sure how you end up in your bed at home but you do. You don’t sleep but you aren’t really awake either. The tears don’t stop coming. You’re nothing but an open wound, not even really a whole person. The world’s burned down to ash and you’re just floating through it. You know your parents come in to talk to you, can hear the murmur of their voices but you don’t care. There’s food put in front of you but it holds no interest to you. You might have had sips of water, maybe some broth but you don’t remember and you don’t care. The only thing you really register is Haley, nestling up to you and making biscuits with his paws in your blankets.

Jason’s funeral is on Friday and you can’t get out of bed to go. Jason’s not in that coffin, not really. He won’t be there and so you won’t be. Jason’s never coming home. Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead, Jason’s dead plays on a loop. You never got to tell him. He died without knowing you loved him. His death has ripped you open like nothing ever has before, regret a constant salt in the wound. He never told you that he was thinking of leaving, of going anywhere. It feels wrong at this point, to interrupt his family in their grief, another stranger claiming to have known their son. After all, how well did you really know him if you didn’t even know he was going to leave?

Grief swallows you whole, but over time you learn to live with it. Days blur together. The tears dry up but the not caring doesn’t. Inside of your head is a wall, separating you from the reality of a world without Jason. You’re wrapped in wool and safe behind glass, unable to care about anything. It’s easier that way.

The school passes you for the year, citing personal tragedy, and you don’t care. Summer comes and the only difference is that your mother comes in and throws your windows open every morning. It’s Jason’s birthday soon, too soon. He’ll never be sixteen but you will be. He’ll never have his Words come in. He’ll never get the chance to do all the things he talked about, make Gotham a better place, travel the world. But you can.

It makes no sense to live for a dead boy but it’s all you’ve got. So you do what you have to do. It gets you to leave your bed for the first time in months. To start eating again, even if there’s no taste to the food in your mouth. To shower and take care of yourself for the first time in ages. Your room is clean for the first time in months and the first thing you do is take down your photograph from the 8th grade formal and put it away in a desk drawer.

By September, you have gathered yourself enough to return to school despite the worried looks of your family. It is hard, the hardest thing you have ever done but you do it for the boy that will never graduate high school. You sit by yourself at your desk, you eat lunch by yourself, you go straight home after class without any detours. The school play this year is Romeo and Juliet. You take home the sign up flyer and consider it, hard. In the end you decide to leave it. Jason may have always wanted to try out for the play but you won’t survive torturing yourself with this. On opening night you tell your parents you’re going to see it and get drunk on the gymnasium roof.

You make it through your last two years of high school a ghost. Administration tries to pressure you into meeting with a therapist but you refuse. You don’t want to experience your grief at all. Numbness is the only way you are going to survive this, your new reality. You do take them up on their suggestion of volunteering. Working with the Martha Wayne Foundation for Underprivileged Children gives you a sense of purpose. Of helping other Crime Alley kids without the benefit of nepotism to get them into places like Gotham Academy. It stokes the first emotion in you other than numbness, and that’s rage for all the ways in which these kids have been failed.

You accept a full scholarship to Gotham University. Your parents couldn’t be more proud of your achievement but you can barely muster the energy to smile. Keep up the volunteer work while rushing through your degree in two years instead of four. With nothing else to drive you, you’ve got nothing but time for school. The Martha Wayne Foundation offers you a position in fundraising, and you accept. It’s not what you envisioned for yourself, but it’s a path forward with purpose.

You move out, into your own apartment in an area that’s probably too dangerous for a girl of your age but you can’t stand to be at home anymore. The job consumes your life and you are grateful for it. It’s important work, even if some of the policy meetings on accepting donations from the Red Hood make you want to fall asleep. You make use of your Gotham Prep connections, rubbing elbows with the rich for just as long as it takes to pry open their wallets. It’s ridiculous but the higher ups trot you out to entertain at fundraising events, a pretty young face to pull in more donors. Occasionally you see Bruce, or Dick, or the newest ward Tim at functions, always across the room before you quickly excuse yourself. The numbness carries you through your life but there are limits to it and you’re not eager to test them.

Even five years later, you can’t go back to the park. You’ve never had another chili dog, though you’ll hire the vendor to cater community events. You’ve worked your way back into the public library, but still avoid the alcove on the second floor in the encyclopedia section. There’s a handful of arcade tokens in a plastic bag in your apartment still unused. Batburger is still your favourite, but you still can’t set foot in the location nearest to the Academy.

You keep yourself so busy that when your Words come in, “I’m sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know…”, you barely give it a thought, just pulling the cuff of your shirt lower to cover your wrist. Carry on with the rest of your morning routine and head into the office. From that point on, your sleeves are always long and your gala outfits gain elbow length opera gloves. You never bother trying to read the rest of it. It doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s a cold February morning. The bus broke down two stops from the office and now you have to walk the rest of the way in the snow. Standing at a crosswalk waiting for the light to change, you pass the time by scanning the headlines on the nearest newsstand. “Lost Wayne son found alive” screams out at you, tearing into your heart bloody. You lose grip of your work bag, but manage not to lose your mind in the street. Picking your bag up out of the slush, you run into the nearest bodega bathroom and lock the door with trembling hands. Shove a fist into your mouth and scream as the tears pour down your face. You’re shaking, worse than you were all those years ago. Snot blocks your nose and you have to stop screaming to breathe. So you do what needs to be done. Fumbling with your coat pocket, you pull out your phone and call the office, call out sick. It’s the only time you’ve done it in all the time your supervisor has known you but the tremor in your voice and frequent sniffles must alarm her enough.

In a fog, you somehow make it from the bodega bathroom to the front gate of Wayne manor. It doesn’t look like it’s changed at all since your last visit over five years ago, except for the heaving mass of press. You circle round the property and enter through the bushes, the way Jason showed you years ago on a tour of the property. You slip on the snow, fall to your knees but get back up. This is the only thing that matters now. The back door has an elaborate knocker that takes both of your hands to lift. It takes what feels like ages for someone to answer the door. It’s poor Mr. Pennyworth, looking more ruffled than you’ve ever seen him. You’re indescribably rude to the poor man, pushing right past him and into the building. Only one thing matters now and your vision has narrowed out anything outside of achieving your goal.

There’s voices coming from somewhere inside, up the stairs and in the direction of the library. A hand, probably Mr. Pennyworth’s, tries to grab at your wrist but you’re too quick for that. You’re running now, clutching at the bannister as though it will pull you up the stairs faster. A shout from behind and the tone of the voices change, a door slamming in the distance. Finally, finally you reach the library but a body tries to come between you, stopping you in your tracks. Years of grief, anger, and battered hope come roaring through you at the thought of being denied seeing Jason, alive after all this time.

Your voice when it leaves you is dangerously low. “Dick, I presume? You don’t know me, and I’ve heard very little about you from Jason and what I did hear I didn’t like. I’m going to make this simple.” The door behind him cracks open, but you soldier on anyway. “Jason Todd was my best friend and first love.” The body stiffens, but that doesn’t matter in this moment. “You are going to step aside and-” anything else doesn’t matter because a door is thrown open and there is Jason.

Eyes wild, a good deal older and more scarred than before, but he’s alive. And then nothing else matters but the feel of his arms warm around you, the imprint of his jacket on your face, the smell of him largely unchanged. He’s alive and he’s real and you can touch him. You draw back to look at him, drink in the sharpened angle of his jaw, the blue-green of his eyes, the white streak in his hair. He’s grown taller and broader than he had over that wretched summer so many years ago. What catches your eye is the writing at the hollow of his throat, a stark black spreading across his collarbones exposed by the v of his t-shirt. Jason Todd was my best friend and first love, it reads.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I didn’t know you felt the same.” He says and your wrist starts to burn.

[lets-try-some-writing]

imagine raf loosing a tooth on base

Oh boy. This is how I see that going down.

Ratchet: He would lose his scrap. He would immediately start frantically trying to call June and try to put the tooth back in because humans aren't supposed to loSE THE MOUTH BONES THOSE CAN'T BE REPLACED-!

Bulkhead: He would similarly panic and promptly attempt to preserve the tooth on Ratchet's orders. Human appendages can be put back on if the part in question is taken care of. The poor mech would struggle to not fumble something in his haste.

Arcee: She would try her best to help Ratchet with her smaller digits. She wouldn't panic too terribly, but she would indeed be VERY concerned. The mouth bones breaking out is a sign of something likely going very wrong in the body.

Bumblebee: He would panic but try really hard to hide it and play moral support, probably coming up with less than supportive comments along the lines of:

"If the worst comes to worst, we can make you metal mouth bones."

"If the mouth bones are important in your society, you can always wear a mask like me! We can be twins!"

"Don't worry! I am sure nothing is wrong probably! I've never seen a bone come out of someone on its own like that, but Ratchet's the best doctor we have! He can... probably fix it!"

Smokescreen: He would try to be helpful but ultimately be resigned to kid sitting duty while the rest of the team hurry to fix things. He would give similarly bad reassurance to Miko and Jack while the duo try in vain to explain.

Ultra Magnus: He would immediately begin writing a casualty report and an apology letter for Rafael's family. Losing bones in an organic creature probably means the creature in question is going to die. He would jump the gun and get the funeral rites prepared beforehand.

Optimus: He would play damage control and try to keep everyone calm to little avail. He might also begin to figure out that things are fine, but likely would end up a tad overwhelmed with Ratchet losing it.

When June eventually turns up to explain, the team are going to have to stand around like fools. Losing the mouth bones does not indicate death in young humans. It is merely a strange molt that the squishes go through as their frames change into their adult forms.

Ratchet will never stop being haunted.

[eymie]

Billy x fem reader where she likes horses or tends to them and thats how billy and her meet?

i’ve been so so busy i’m sorry this took a while. also i was feeling like writing something fluffy but i might make a part two with smut. ((probably) definitely*)

It’s also been a hot minute since I’ve rode a horse so bear with me.

part two

SWEET TOOTH !

You kept to yourself most the times. Only coming into town when you needed to, soft smiles to people who nodded at you.

Your family owned a farm not too far past town, growing up spending most your time in the barn you became acquainted with the horses. You fed them and tended to them. They were like your closest friends. You were homeschooled by your aunt who used to be a teacher herself so you never met many other kids your age.

When your parents got older you started making more town trips for them, making business deals, the doctors, the bank. Most people in town were friendly with you, many bought your goat milk or your eggs.

You tied up your favourite horse to the fence post. Pulling a sugar cube from your pocket, which embarrassingly enough you always kept on you. They were expensive and your mother would have your head if she found out but you couldn’t help it, horses loved them

You fed your favourite horse, Aspen, a small sugar cube. Scratching in between her ears, kissing her cheek.

“Atta girl, don’t go talking to strangers.” She nuzzled against your shoulder as you walked off into a shop. Your father had asked you to grab a new hammer while you were out so he could fix up a few loose floorboards. You looked back out the window to make sure Aspen was still tied up.

“Oh, hello darlin’” You turned to see one of the ladies who was a loyal customer. She was a sweet older lady, always stopping by for some eggs. “Rarely see you in town.”

“Yeah, I know.” You smiled, admiring the way her clothes were neat and clean. Her husband made good money and her kids were grown. “Don’t got any eggs on me, sorry ma’am.”

“Oh don’t worry ‘bout that, still got plenty. I know where to find you if I run out.” You nodded, going back to your shopping. Usually you had a stand in town to sell your eggs, or some shops sold for you but you had your specialty customers.

You grabbed one of the cheaper hammers off the shelf, walking over to the register area. You placed it on the table, pulling out your cash. As you hand the worker your money you look over to see a man and your horse.

“You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me.” You quietly thank the worker, grabbing your change and hammer and running out the store. The man turned to look at you, backing off a bit. “What’re you doin’?”

“Oh, nothing miss.” He stepped away from your horse a bit, his eyes darting down to the hammer in your hand. “Not going to hit me with that are you?”

You look down at the hammer in your hand and quickly put it away in your bag.

“‘Course not, m’not an animal.” You stepped closer, he didn’t back away this time. You noticed a pistol in his holster. “You can’t be talking much anyway with that gun in your pocket.”

“I suppose not.” He muttered, lifting his hat off his head. “Got a nice horse here.”

“I know that,” You look down to notice an apple in the man’s hand. You step closer again, rubbing your hand along Aspens side. “Where’s yours?”

“Oh, Lady’s just over there.” He nods to a horse tied up across the road at a boarding house. You thought she suited him quite nice.

“So you just come over introducing yourself to every horse in town.” You ask, admiring his messy brown hair. He had a bit of dirt on his nose but you weren’t going to point it out.

“Well not every horse comes along with a girl as pretty as you.” You blushed, looking down at the dusty ground. Sure a few men flirted with you in the past, but none as handsome as this man in front of you.

“That for her?” You point out the apple in his hand. He grabs your hand, placing the fresh apple into it.

“She looked a bit hungry.” He said, watching as you held the apple flat on your hand for her. He admired as you rubbed behind her ear as she ate from the palm of your hand. “Looks like she’s got a sweet tooth.”

“She sure does.” You smile, feeding her the last of the apple. You rubbed her cheek as she leaned down to get some of the apple chunks that had fell.

“She got a name?” The man asked, tilting his head. He really was awfully pretty, nice too. His arm rested against Aspen, fingers tracing her.

“Not telling unless you’d like to tell me yours.” You never flirted with a man before, you didn’t mean to be now but it came off that way. He laughed a bit look down and then back up at you.

“Billy,” He told you. You liked the way his name sounded, the way if rolled right off the tongue. His name suited him.

“I like that name.” You admitted, feeling almost too honest and blunt once you said it. Your cheeks flushed a bit in embarrassment.

“Mmm, there’s better out there.” He hummed, stepping a bit closer to you. You would’ve backed up if it was any other man you were talking to. If you knew who he was you should’ve been. “Now you gonna tell me or what?”

He was playful with his words, not intimidating or threatening.

“Aspen, but I got a few more horses back at home.” You thought about what it would be like to invite Billy to your farm, show him around the barn.

“Yeah?” He looked up at you, almost like he was asking a question. You looked like the sweetest girl he’d seen in a while, innocent and honest.

“Maybe I could show you sometime, how long you stayin’?” You really did wanna talk to him, knowing you probably wouldn’t be back in town for a little while. You didn’t want to miss the opportunity.

“I’d like that.” He nodded, putting his hat back on his head. The dark brim shadowing his face. “What’s your name?”

“Well that’s a secret.” You giggled, untying Aspen from the post. Billy didn’t have to help you mount her like he would’ve tried with other girls.

“How am I gonna find you without a name?” He asked, looking up at you. You shrugged, and he furrowed his dark eyebrows.

“I better be headin’ home, bye Billy.” You clicked your heels, Aspen backing up a bit. You turned back to look at Billy who was still waiting your name. “I’ll keep my word, promise.”

“I’d hope so.” He tilted his head, nodding you a goodbye. He watched as you and Aspen rode down the dusty road.

“What you doin’ talking to the farm girl.” He turned at the voice, the butcher was leaving the shop purchasing new knives. He was a burly man, usually buying your chickens and pigs if you.

“Farm girl?”

“Yeah, she lives with her family on that farm on the edge of town.” Billy nodded, knowing just how he could see you again.

masterlist

[takotakigum]

our time — itoshi rin.

characters: itoshi rin x gn!reader

warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, established relationships, implied hurt/comfort, and parent!reader&rin.

word count: 900

synopsis: one of the struggles rin first faced in parenthood is not being able to understand the main reason why his little one is crying.

aged up characters | please read at your own risk!

your baby has one of the worst meltdowns the world has ever seen—at least, the worst rin has ever thought of.

the first time it happens, rin doesn’t know what to do.

“why’re you still crying?” rin looks at your kid, whose hands are roughly rubbing at their eyelids. as careful as he can, he tries to pry it away from their face, scared it might irritate and wound the skin. “come on.” rin tries to carry your kid from the living room floor, although they stubbornly stay seated on the ground. naturally, with rin’s strength, he could easily lift them up with ease; however, you suddenly go off the couch, sitting down on the floor with your little one.

immediately, your baby rushes to you. their eyes seeking comfort in your shoulder while their hands squeeze at the fabric of your clothing. rin sees the little one’s body crumble on your lap, crying hurtfully louder, even though their mouth is muffled by your chest.

“what’s wrong?” rin asks in a rather stern voice, still unsure of what to do. his body is stiff, knuckles almost turning white as he grips at the edge of the leather seating. “…..” even you don’t answer, your shushed hums to your baby still gets overlapped with their crying.

as time ticks slower than possible, rin’s leg bounces anxiously. and soon enough, he’s unable to hear the prominent sobbing from your kid, just the lightest hiccups from a sore throat.

your hand retracts from your baby’s back and onto rin’s knee, gesturing your husband to sit down on the floor with you. and he does, he immediately sits down beside you; wanting to hold the little one yet his hands stops midway when he sees you shake your head.

worriedly, rin tilts his head, but nonetheless moves a few inches away. you almost frown, letting out a short sigh before rin takes it as a sign to get closer once more.

“what happened?” when rin is sure your baby finally calmed down and has droopy eyes, he asks. “got overwhelmed, i think.” you play with the loose threads of your baby’s clothes, twirling it around your hand as you try and lean your body closer to them for comfort. “huh? about what exactly?” rin recalls how the living room was quiet, not overbearing at all—just like the way it always was. however, the second rin averted his eyes from his kid playing and rolling around on the floor, he heard loud wails from them. “who knows. no one really understands what’s happening in their heads, right?” the anxious knot plastered on rin’s eyebrow worsens, but one glance at your now smiling face eases it up a bit.

“then how can we help? how are we meant to know?” his voice is soft, too quiet for your baby to even hear. “we don’t know, nor can we help the way they want us to. but it’s alright. it’s all over now.” you look at the previously fisted hand crumpling your shirt start to loosen, your little one’s fingers relaxing. carefully, you hope it’s only right to fix your baby’s messy, dark green hair.

“what? that’s it?” rin continues, he’d rather do something—anything, really—than merely sit down and watch his little one cry helplessly. “yes, that’s it. it’s normal, don’t worry about it much; just experiencing heightened emotions…err i think?” rin could only nod, watching you attentively, yet still bothered.

although rin would prefer not to worry you even more with his overthinking and lack of parental knowledge. in hindsight, you really don’t mind.

your baby suddenly blabbers, mumbling something beyond the understanding of any humane language. “hm?” you rub your knuckles on your baby’s swollen cheek softly. they pout, arms hitting your chest for attention. “yes?” then, the baby looks at your husband with grabby hands, and rin’s eyes widen.

“wanna go there, baby?” suddenly, your baby makes a sound of agreement. however, it seems that if you didn’t give them to rin at this very moment they’ll start crying again. rin opens his arms stiffly, and despite it, your little one practically jumps off your arms and into his.

within seconds, the anxious air of the room eases little by little. and soon enough, your baby’s cheek is snugly fit on the juncture of rin’s neck and shoulders. “tired baby.” rin mumbles, and you poke at his cheek for it. as rin embraces your baby, you stand up from the floor, grabbing one of rin’s hands steadily to bring him up on his feet too.

“i still don’t get why you cried so suddenly.” rin directs at the little one as the sways of his body lull your baby into a deeper slumber is beyond careful. “don’t act like you never cried when you were that young!” you whisper back, giggling. “but i never did- i know it.” the tips of rin’s ears are heating up, you both know it.

dare you say it’s because of the way you wrap your arms around rin’s abdomen from the back and not because of his embarrassment. “whatever you say.” you sigh with a faint smile on your face.

with one last glance at your sleeping baby, you kiss their forehead, light enough to not awaken them. from the corner of your eye, you see the same pout your baby once made in front of you—however this time, it’s on rin’s face.

and so, the moment your gentle, loving lips flutters against rin’s nose, cheeks, forehead, and mouth—what’s ever left of the tense air dissipates and gets replaced with something rin loves more than anything in the world:

the feeling of never ending warmth given to him by none other than himself, his own little one, and of course, lover.

© takotakigum | do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works.

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

How You and I Became We

Natasha Romanoff x GN!Reader

Warnings: Light mentions of the red room, Natasha having PTSD, a lot of tooth rotting fluff of reader helping Nat through things and being her rock

Word count: 885

A/N: I felt bad for making Nat the bad guy and had to make up for it. So here she is, being baby and soft.

You met Natasha after she defected from Russia, claiming she wanted to do better and be better. Fury assigned her to you and Barton. Field missions she'd head out with Clint then report back to you. 

Slowly you learned things about Natasha especially since you two shared an apartment. Fury had asked if you could take her in since she had nowhere to go and it would take her a bit to save up for her own place. 

It was your first night together when you learned about her need to handcuff herself to the bed. You tried to reassure her that she didn't need that and she assured you that she did.

You compromised with her by holding her wrist through the night. You got little sleep that whole first week, but you'd slept worse before.

Slowly you were able to let go of your grip until she didn't need it anymore though you found her still seeking out your touch to help her fall asleep, it usually became your hands intertwined and eventually you'd start waking up with more than just your hands intertwined.

Over time you had learned Natasha's habits and you find her seeking out your office for its comforting atmosphere. The soft yellow lights, soft lofi music, comfy couches, and snuggly blankets. She'd come in quietly, if your desk hadn't faced the door you probably wouldn't even know she'd slipped in as she grabbed a blanket, wrapping herself up and laying down. 

She'd start talking in Russian assuming you didn't understand, but you knew several languages. She'd complain about various things, especially the red room. You had learned a lot from her file that Fury gave you and you knew about the Red Room and the horrible things that had gone on there. Natasha only confirmed them as she spoke in Russian.

“Krasnaya komnata isportila vsyu moyu zhizn'. U menya v bukhgalterskoy knige stol'ko krasnogo, i ya ne znayu, smogu li ya kogda-nibud' eto ispravit'... YA ne ponimayu, pochemu ty tak dobr ko mne…(The red room fucked with my whole life over. I've got so much red in my ledger and I don't know if I'll ever be able to fix it...I don't understand why you're so nice to me…)” 

You looked up from your paperwork. She wasn't looking at you, just staring off, as she tugged on a loose string of the blanket. You had heard her say a lot of negative things since you had met, but she had never brought you into it so you figured it was time,

“YA dobr k tebe, potomu chto ty mne nravish'sya, Natal'ya. YA dumayu, ty khoroshiy chelovek. Prosto potomu, chto oni kontrolirovali vas tak, kak oni eto delali, vy reshili uyti, chtoby stat' luchshe, potomu chto vy luchshe. To, cherez chto oni zastavili vas proyti, bylo obuslovleno vami, no eto ne znachit, chto eto vy. (I'm nice to you because I like you Natalia. I think you're a good person. Just because they controlled you the way they did it was your decision to leave, to be better because you are better. What they put you through was conditioned into you it doesn't mean it is you.)” you leaned back in your chair, she shot up, blanket falling off of her. 

“You can speak Russian?” Her voice wavered as you nodded. 

“The whole time?”

“Yes. I didn't want you to stop venting, but I don't want you questioning why I'm nice to you. It's not because I have to be. It's because I want to be. I actually genuinely like you Natalia.” You stood up, making your way around your desk until you were in front of her. She stood a few inches taller than you as you looked up into her striking green eyes. 

“Why…?” You shrug.

“Why do we like anything? Or anyone for that matter? Emotions are weird and complicated, but that's okay because there doesn't have to be some big hidden meaning behind why I like you. Do you like me?” Natasha nods, making you smile and slowly reach out for her hand, she allows you to intertwine your fingers. “Then that's all that matters, don't you think?” She looks away and down and everywhere, but at you until you take your other hand and gently cup her cheek which brings her attention back to you. “It's okay to feel this way Tasha. No one is going to stop you, especially not me.” You barely had time to blink before her lips pressed against yours softly. 

You let your hand move to the back of her head so she couldn't pull back too quickly as you kissed back, letting your lips dance for the first time. 

You let her go, pulling back only to have her chase your lips, gripping your cheeks and pulling you back in as you fall against the couch, her now straddling your lap as she kisses you with a fever like she's suddenly addicted to you and can't get enough until you both need air. Breathing heavily, feeling her hot breath against your face. You grip her hips pulling her closer.

“I do hope that you don't leave me all hot and bothered with just your kisses.” You breathe out, kissing her jaw and neck.

“Wouldn't dream of it.” 

[imreadydollparts]

If I had the right mindset for making videos this would be a video, but.

I don't.

Anyway.

There are a few little tricks to get from this severely matted mess:

It is worse than it looks. Most of the knot is under that scrunchie.

To this:

All smooth.

But first, you have to get through this:

Doll grade kanekalon hair is very fragile and often if the doll has been roughly handled and her hair has become matted, there is a ton of broken hair stuck in the matts.

I know that this was broken hair and not crumbling hair because the individual strands did not break when tested by giving them a gentle yank. Crumbling hair will break into little bits when you do that.

Sometimes when huge amounts of hair come out like this it's because one plug pulled free and the neighboring plugs are now loose and also pulling free, but this was not the case for Barbie today.

I also know just from experience. I've been doing this for a while. It gets to a point that you just know. You can feel it when it's crumble vs breakage combing out or if it's plugs coming out.

The first trick is using metal combs. It just works better with plastic hair. There is no mold line or seam on a good metal comb.

Second trick is to have the right flat iron.

Both the combs and flat iron are here:

I used the Tervixx, which is the second listing on that post, at 120F. Kanekalon is a low-heat fiber, meaning it will melt rather easily. That Conair can do Kanekalon, too, on setting 1, but the Tervixx is much narrower and that makes it easier to get to the scalp on dolls with shorter hair.

You want the hair to be damp but not dripping wet, lead it with a flea comb (also shown there), and go nice and slow giving the hair time to get hot and pliable while being pulled by the comb, to get the best results.

With a lot of breakage, you'll end up with something like this:

It's going to look rough. There are a lot of ends. To get rid of that rough appearance, you hold the section of hair tightly near the longest ends, then gently push the shorter hairs back toward the scalp with the other hand. You're not trying to tease the hair, just push surface hairs that are short toward the scalp. This part I'd like to record so you can see how gently it's meant to be done but can't brain making videos and working at the same time.

Then, keeping the longer hairs pulled back tightly, carefully snip those short hairs as close to the scalp as you can get with sharp, tiny scissors while being careful not to cut the long hairs. I use cuticle scissors.

Or you can pluck them right at the scalp with good tweezers.

And you'll end up with this:

So the tricks are hairline trimming. metal toothed combs, and a good, variable temp flat iron.

I haven't fixed her bangs, yet, so don't look too closely at them.

[oleander-nin]

Valen-Time 01: Hand Sewn(Rise! Raph x Reader)

A/N, not important: Guess who's writing for 29 days straight again! Or, I'm attempting to at least. This is what I needed lots of luck on lol, mostly because February is a bit busy for me, but I really wanted to do this again for Valentine's day. Any criticism is welcome, constructive or not. This is supposed to be a gender neutral reader, so if I screwed up somewhere, please tell me.

-Ollie

CW: needles(sewing), stitching, teddy bear, fluff(hopefully)

Words: 1039

Summary: Raph tore his stuffed animal and you agree to help fix it.

Tag list(I didn't actually know if I should add it or not, but I'm going with yes for now. Tell me if you want your name off): @f1oricide @itsyagurlchip @lordfreg @acutiewithagun @rottmnttmnt2012 @lixnininotnay @lexiechr @ssak-i

The ruined stuffie in your hands made you frown, it’s torn stitching letting the stuffing that once shaped it fall out. Raph sat next to you, a tight-lipped frown on his face as his fingers twitched on his led. He watches you inspect the bear in silence, his shoulders brought forwards and touching his jaw. You don’t comment on the stench of nervous sweat filling the air, not wanting to bring down his mood even more. This was the bear you gave to him when you confessed, and now it sat ruined in your hands. While the sentimental value of it wasn’t huge to you, Raph was practically attached to this bear by the hip, which would eventually be the poor stuffies' downfall.

“I can just get you a new one, it’s not a big deal.” You assure him, trying to help bring up the large terrapin’s mood. Raph shook his head, his snaggle tooth biting into his lip as he frown deepens.

“Raph doesn’t want a new one.” He says, a tone of distress lingering in his tone. you watch as his eyes linger on the ripped stitches and protruding filling, knowing he felt bad for breaking his stuffed animal. You purse your lips, trying to decide how to move forwards. You flip the stuffed animal over, inspecting it from top to bottom. You weren’t new to fixing broken stuffies, many of your own having been patched over the years, but his spikes really did a number to the one in your hand. 

“If I were to try and sew it,” You start hesitantly, your hand caressing the black buttons the small teddy had for eyes. “I think we could patch it back up. It would look a bit messy because I don’t have extra fabric on me, but he would be fixed.”

Raph visibly brightens at the idea, his arms wrapping around your shoulder and pulling you into a tight hug. “Thank you. Dad has a sewing kit in his room, we could ask him for it.”

You fondly roll your eyes and pat his forearm twice before starting to ease the stuffing back into the bear to try and fatten it out. Your hands twitched at the scratchy feeling of the cotton, Raph’s weight on your shoulders making it harder to move your arms than you wanted. You don’t say a word though, letting Raph continue to lean on you as he watches you remove whatever stuffing refused to back down. Although his eyes hold worry for the removed stuffing, he doesn’t say a word about it. 

“Raph will go get the sewing kit.” He remarks, finally letting you go as he stands up. His chasm deepens as he glances back at the stuffed animal in your hands, but he says nothing. With no more words exchanged, Raph disappears from your room and presumably heads off to where Splinter keeps the sewing kit, leaving you alone with the bear.

You softly rub it’s torn stitching, pulling loose thread to make it easier to sew back up. Its bright eyes reflected the light above you, making the inanimate object seem as if it had life breathed into it. It's limp arm stubs laid on your knees, asking for a hug. You chuckle lightly to yourself at the thought of the bear wanting affection, as being hugged was what destroyed it in the first place. 

You continue messing with the stuffing as Raph re-enters, a small dingy shoebox so full of thread and needles and spare fabric, the lid couldn’t close. The bed dips to the side as Raph settles next to you once more, head peeking over your shoulder and hands tucked into his chest. You don’t say a word about the feeling of his breath on your neck, merely turning slightly so you wouldn’t have to deal with it as much.

“Was your dad a seamstress?” You easily tease, the bear left to lay in your lap as you start to dig through the extensive yet scattered supplies. Raph gently shoves your shoulder as he grins.

“Nope, we just kept tearing everything he gave us. Some of the baby clothes he has stashed away are basically patchwork at this point.”

You smile fondly at the thought of a younger Raph and his brothers with their clothes that were a medley of colors, having seen some of them yourself. You finally pull out brown thread and a thin needle, sticking the chosen needle into the thread of the spool so it would stay put. “Have you ever sewn before then?”

Raph shakes his head, his lower lip jutting out in a slight pout. “Nope. There wasn’t much of a need, and Dad fixed everything we ripped anyways.”

“Would you like to learn?” You offer, gesturing to the stuffie's open stomach. Raph tilts his head as he looks down at the teddy bear, considering your offer for just a moment. 

“Yeah,” He nods, looking both determined and excited. “I would.”

You beam at him, quickly shuffling around until you’re facing Raph so you could show him what to do. The bear is soon found in Raph’s lap instead of yours, the fallen stuffing in between his thighs to keep it safe. You thread the needle and wax it for him while describing to him what he was going to do, assuring him he couldn’t really mess it up even if he tried. You hand him his needle, gently guiding his hands through the first few stitches. As he continues to sew the rest on his own, you start to add the rest of the stuffing into the bear so it wouldn’t flatten.

The final stitch is soon placed, and you easily instruct Raph on how to secure it, only having to help him once before he got it. The stitch job down its stomach was sloppy, but secure, no more stuffing leaking onto the floor. You return the needle and thread and set the box onto the floor, watching fondly as Raph admires his stuffed animal. It doesn’t surprise you when Raph pulls you close, whispering his thanks into your ear. You simply smile, kissing his jaw and praising his needlework.

[batwritings]

Words of Affirmation

I saw a tiktok from someone named ColonelCakez as König and their caption read how to some, König is a character in a video game. But to them and many others, he's a comfort. I got to thinking about my own mental state, how down I've been about recent events in my personal life and how I'd love to hear comforting words from these characters that hold such a special place to me and many more. So here are a few words from CoD characters that you may need to hear. I may do one for Obey Me and even the DSMP if people want it. :) Please remember how special and loved you really are. Enjoy!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Simon "Ghost" Riley "Are you going to spend all your time moping or are you going to do something about it?" You look up to Ghost who slowly sits on the steps beside you, his more casual mask loose on his face. "I...don't know how," you mumble, watching the rain fall to the ground. "But you know there's something you can do. Pick a spot, the easiest spot, and start there."

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish "Easy mate, take a breather," Soap tells you, both hands firm on your shoulders. "Now look at me. It's not all gonna get fixed right now. But it will. The world's not going to explode from a few mistakes. Take my word on that one aye?"

John Price "Quite bottling it up," Price's voice is soft, a fatherly hand on your head. "The more you bottle, the worse the aftermath will be. Let it out yeah?" He holds you firmly as you cry into his shoulder.

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick "I know what it's like to feel like the world is falling around you, away from you," Gaz says quietly, sitting next to you in the barracks. "But only if you let it. You have the strength to break your fall and get back on your feet. I've seen you do it before, you can do it again."

König "You need to give yourself more credit meine liebe," König kneels in front of you, holding your hands with such tenderness. "You are doing the best you can with what life has handed you. Do not listen to their opinions; they don't know you. Put on your ear protection and keep doing your best."

Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin "I know personally how hard it can be when you feel trapped, like the world is against you," Horangi's voice is warm and soft as he holds you against his chest. "But you have claws. You have the ability to fight back and take your life back. Fight for it."

Nikolai "Come now my friend," The pilot says with a knowing smile. "You have not failed. Only needed to stop for repairs. When life hits you and turns your perspective upside down, you need only turn it back around. It is not impossible, you've seen how I do it." He smacks his helicopter a few times, making you crack a smile.

Nikto "We know all too well what it is like to feel like you are alone, that you have nothing. That you are nothing," Nikto tells you, leaning in the doorway to your room. "Sometimes you have to learn that it's okay to trust others and let them in again. They aren't going to hurt you as badly as your mind is making you think."

Sebastian Krueger "Having people leave hurts, especially when it's outside our control," Krueger sighs, lifting the netting to take a drag from his cigarette. As he blows out a puff of smoke, he continues. "But forcing yourself into a life of isolation is worse. There will always be opportunities to patch the damage to your heart."

Philip Graves "Turn that frown upside down sunshine," Graves tells you with a pat on the back. "Neither of us are going anywhere till the job gets done. And trust me, it'll get done just fine."

Alejandro Vargas "Don't look so down cariño," Alejandro tips your chin up to look at him as he gives you his signature sharp-toothed grin. "Los Vaqueros have your back. You can rely on us; you're not alone."

Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra "Hey what's wrong amor?" Rudy questions, holding your face gently. "It's all going to be okay. We're going to figure things out one step at a time okay? You and me." He puts a soft kiss on the tip of your nose. "Promise."

Valeria Garza "Come on chiquito/a, let's get you up," Valeria helps you to your feet, brushing dirt and dust off your pants and shirt. "Try again yeah? You think I took the title of El Sin Nombre without falling off the bull a few times? You can do this."

Kate Laswell "Everyone makes mistakes, I'm certainly no exception," Laswell puts her hand on your shoulder. "I've seen you do this before, I know you can do it again. Go prove them wrong, take no prisoners."

Alex Keller "I've been through my fair share...and you see what happened because of that," Alex points to his prosthetic before standing and you watch it support his weight. "But that was only one part of who I am. I'm a hell of a lot more than that, and I know you are too."

Farah Karim "I know what it feels like to have the weight of the world on your shoulders, like everything is riding on your success," the resistance leader tells you. The rising sun paints her in an ethereal light as she smiles at you. "It is always important to remember who is in your corner, and who will turn their back on you when the war is over. Remember how to trust but not make yourself vulnerable. Guard, but don't push away those who would help you."

Keegan P. Russ "Choices are never easy, especially when you don't know the right ones to make," Keegan puts his mask back on as he approaches you, knocking his forehead into your oh so gently. "Whatever choice you make will be the right one for you kid. Don't second guess yourself so much, you know yourself and your situation better than that."

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Call Mom

CW: PTSD/flashbacks, BBU in general, haunted, ghosts, reference to a murder, severe chronic panic

Jameson's Masterlist (scroll down)

-

Aw, crap. Hey, Johnny, do you remember where I put that girl's number? Like, Katie, or Caitlyn, or... do you remember? Hey! Johnny! Put down the fucking xbox controller for two fucking minutes and give me a hand, won't you?

Fingers snap right in front of his face.

Johnny!

Jameson jerks in a breath that sounds like a whine, sitting straight up. The fan blows cool air over his sweat-soaked skin and he shivers, cold inside and out. The air in his room is freezing, suddenly. Outside it's so dark you can't even see the trees - the power outage must still be going, there aren't any streetlights. Thanks to the clouds, no stars or moon, either.

Just darkness.

Wait, if the electricity's out...

He looks up. The ceiling fan is perfectly still above his head, even while ice-cold air keeps goosebumps rising on his arms, the hair standing up at the back of his neck.

See, was that so hard? It'll take like five minutes if we work together, I swear.

"Nat?" He mumbles. "S'at... you?"

Checked there already, actually. Checked the fridge, too, so where the hell did I put it?

He's the only person in this room.

Jameson goes from still half-asleep to fully, painfully awake and aware in a single breath.

The voice comes as clear as if it was right next to him, a voice as familiar as his own - but he has no idea whose it is. There's no one here but him - even Trash Cat isn't here any longer, probably hunting a tiny piece of plastic downstairs that he'll end up stepping on in the morning. So far she hasn't eaten any of them. He doesn't even know where she's finding them.

Johnny, come on. Let's, like, retrace our steps.

His head starts to ache more with every single word, the pain working like tendrils behind his eyes, a pressure trying to crush his skull from the inside. Something flashes, bright and almost like a spectrum of rainbow colors, in the corner of his right eye, but it won't resolve when he turns his head.

I got home from work, I told you we had a hot customer who gave me her number, and then... then what?

Jameson stares into darkness so complete it feels like it has weight. Like it's sitting on the bed next to him, like the mattress dips underneath it. A body made of memory, slowly pulling together the pieces of what's been hidden. Clawing them out but leaving deep weals across the inside of his mind, like a corpse's fingers digging into loose dirt to climb out of his grave.

"Caitlyn," He whispers, as the thought crystallizes. A memory, pure and perfect. Some sliver of whatever they broke the person he was into. Some small piece of the man who signed up. "Her name was Caitlyn, not Katie. She... wrote it on the fucking paper."

Right! Okay, so, clearly I told you her name, and then what?

Jameson turns his head, and there he is.

Hank.

His breath catches in his throat.

Hank is younger than he is, even though he was older then. The older brother, trapped in time, while Jameson - Jonathan - keeps aging. The rakish smile is still there and, Christ, Jameson had forgotten that he'd done that stupid thing to his hair - you forgot everything about him, you begged them to take him away from you so that it wouldn't hurt anymore. He's still got that one crooked tooth he'd refused to get braces to fix. That crooked tooth had been in his dental records. It was how they identified his body.

The fucking crooked tooth, the silver-colored fillings, then the DNA tests...

"No," He whispers, going for a vicious hiss, but what comes out is far too close to a whimper. "No. This is-... this is a flashback. This isn't real, this isn't-"

Maybe I left it in yesterday's pants?

"This isn't real, fuck off." Jameson shoves himself off the bed, forgetting his stupid fucking legs don't work. His knees buckle as soon as they have to take his weight.

He lands wrong on one arm and the pain spikes up through his shoulder, making him cry out in the hoarse, rasping voice that his life has left him with. "Fuck!"

He rolls onto his side, but he can't stop himself.

He looks up again. He doesn't want to remember Hank but he's desperate for one more look at his face. Just the one more time.

Just once more.

Hank sighs, raking a hand back through his hair, leaving it mussed-up and sticking out, looking ridiculous. He did that all the time. Bit his nails, too, and tried everything to stop but he never did. He wore those jeans with the ripped knee all the time, their mother had hated it. Hank, wearing the t-shirt for the band they'd gotten concert tickets for but never got the chance to see. Hank, dead for years, smiles to one side at a brother who isn't there.

The brother who erased him.

"Hank," He whispers. "Hank, you gotta-... you gotta go. You're hurting me-"

Damn. Man, it wasn't in my jeans either. Well, I'll find it sooner or later, I guess. Hank shrugs. His eyes are in shadow, not quite defined. Jameson wonders if it's because he's forgotten what color his brother's eyes were, forgotten it deeply enough that even this can't pull it back.

It'll be okay, Johnny. It really will. Hank looks right at him. Jameson's breath catches in his throat. The room is so cold the air burns as he breathes. It never gets this cold in California. It can't be this cold in California. I mean it. Don't cry yourself to sleep over this.

"I cried myself to sleep... all the time, but I don't now. I'm not-... that guy." He can barely speak. He sees his breath puff out when his lips move, and Jameson slumps back. His voice cracks, it creaks like old floors. He didn't stop crying for weeks. He didn't leave his bed. He did any drug he could find trying to not think about Hank, until he realized there was only one way to make sure he never had to think about what he'd done, by letting Hank walk home alone that one night, again. He didn't want to think about that pain anymore.

They had promised him he wouldn't ever have to hurt like this again.

They lied about that, too.

Jameson makes a sound he refuses to admit is a choked-off sob. "I'm not him, Hank. I'm not Johnny... not anymore."

Hank stands, and it's impossible. He's not here. But he holds out his hand anyway, and Jameson takes it without thinking. Hank's grip is so cold it burns, but Jameson lets his dead brother pull him to his feet anyway.

He smells like earth and ice.

"I'm not him," He whispers.

Right, like that argument ever works. Hank just grins, shaking his head. The man Jameson was - the one he had begged to leave behind - is the reason Hank will look like this in his memories forever. He's the reason there isn't another Hank, only this one, locked in the memories he wanted to boil and burn out of his own head. They're still there, though. They break through.

They never stop breaking through.

He would crawl back into Robert's cage himself if it only meant he didn't have to remember that it's his fault Hank is dead.

Tears run hot down his cheeks - the only thing in him that isn't frozen is his grief, wildfire in his chest leaving nothing but ash behind. Forests after wildfires are ghosts, Hank said once, when they were both high and everything sounded fucking important.

Jameson had called him an idiot - he remembers that now. But... he also thinks Hank was right. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can, focusing. He isn't here. Hank cannot be here. "I don't remember... remember you-... I don't want to remember you! It was my choice to forget!"

Hank claps him on the shoulder. His smile goes briefly gentle and soft. Jameson can see it with his eyes closed. Whatever you say, man. Just promise me you'll call Mom sometime soon, okay?

The pain is too much. If he can't pass out soon, he might die just from having to experience it, unending, never stopping, rising higher and higher. "Mom...?"

Yeah, dumbass. Mom. Our mother? Who gave birth to us and never lets us fucking forget it? I keep trying to talk to her, but I guess my signal's bad. Hank laughs, and Jameson's whole body breaks with the sound of that familiar laughter. The way Hank could throw his head back without the slightest bit of self-consciousness, how he'd hear that laugh across a crowded room and know it was his brother's, know right where he was.

Until he didn't.

Until nobody did.

Until the cops found what was left.

Until-

Jameson jolts again, and finds himself still lying on the floor next to his bed. He's burning up, boiling hot, pouring sweat until his sleep shirt sticks to his back and his arms feel slick with it, his hair sticking to skin. A droplet trickles down the back of his neck like a fingertip, barely touching. He rips his shirt off, then his pants, throwing them as far away from himself as he can, until he's naked on the floor but it isn't enough.

He's still sweating, still breathing in harsh gasps, fighting around the strength of his racing heart to get enough air to fill his lungs. He looks frantically around, but no one's here.

The ceiling fan circles lazily overhead.

He takes in a breath, his heart pounding. It feels like it's going to grow wings and fly away, up his throat and out of his mouth. He's still crying, he realizes only now. He closes his eyes as tightly as he can and fights tears back through sheer willpower and rage, curling his hands into fists. Just like they used to be, his fingers know - muscle memory of mittens that had kept him powerless, once. Now, he does it on purpose, and he forces them to curl through the pain.

Forces down the dream.

Wills himself to forget he ever had it.

"Four... f-four things you can see," he whispers to himself, slumping back down. His voice keeps trembling, catching, and it's everything he has to open his eyes again around the pounding headache in his skull and look. "The-... moon. Out the... window. The, my dresser... for my clothes... M-My, uh, the picture Nat p-printed of me and Allyn... fuck, the... the doorknob."

Every time he thinks he knows how much of his body can hurt at once, some nerves he didn't know existed decide to join the party. He has to breathe in and out, slow and controlled, trying to will his body to cooperate. He won't walk tomorrow, he can tell already. It'll be a day to spend in bed, or using his wheelchair. It might be a week until his body lets him walk again.

He fights back a new well of rage and despair at how well he knows the next way his body will fail him. He can't think about that right now, or the pain and the panic will spiral out of control. He might hurt someone. He can't hurt anyone, not ever again.

He won't.

"Three... things I can touch," He murmurs. "My, my... my shirt, fuck, gross, sweaty... my... my hair... the floor, feels... cold, feels good... the corner of my bed..."

It helps. He makes himself focus on this, on real things, not the nightmare of his brother.

He won't remember his brother.

He won't.

"Two things I can hear. Uh, the, there's... crickets or something outside, and-... and I can hear-"

Hank's voice whispers right next to his ear.

Call Mom.

His breath hitches.

"Not real," he whispers. "One... one thing I can taste..."

All he tastes is blood, and for one horrified half a second he's sure it's Hank's blood, until he realizes he bit his tongue in his sleep.

The blood is his own.

Call Mom.

-

[minjix]

skating mishaps → Vinnie Hacker x reader

summary: in which Vinnie’s teaching you how to skate and shit hits the fan

warnings: swearing, blood, pretty gory, concussion= sad boy Vinnie :*, and tooth rotting fluff, overprotective!Vinnie and Noah Beck makes an appearance, yay! also this is pretty long :)

a/n: i know nothing when it comes to concussions and treatments so please don’t sue me for using the wrong information <3

masterlist

Your heart was in your throat, as your hands grasped his, balancing on your skateboard which your boyfriend had gifted you.

You didn’t know how to skate, something Vinnie was aware of and wanted to fix. He told you about a dream he had, a dream were you and him were skating, hand in hand into the sunset. You laughed him in the face, not meaning to, and he took it personally. And now you found yourself on a custom made skateboard, made for you and paid by Vinnie.

His grin matched the Los Angeles sun, his skin tan, a temple of tattoos and small, barely visible scars. His blonde curls were swiped back under his cap, and the chain around his neck were its own star. He looked so fucking good, and you didn’t want to disappoint him.

You wanted him to see you and go, that’s my baby, which he did, but you weren’t aware of it. The way he always kept and arm around your waist in parties, never letting you out of his sight. He adored you with his whole being.

So you agreed to letting him teach you how to skate.

You gasped as the board started to roll, Vinnie still in your grasp. “You’re doing great!” He smiled at, his brown eyes squinting. You could only nod and gulp.

An hour passed and you were getting significantly better, and then it all went to hell. Vinnie ran inside the house to grab more water, leaving you on the driveway with clear instructions to not skate without him. But you didn’t listen. You wanted to at least stand on the board on your own, and you did, for two solid seconds before the four wheels rolled under you, and flung the board away from you causing you to fall backwards with a shriek.

It sounded like a sonic boom when the back of your head hit the tarmac, your body following a second after. The pain that followed could only be described as an echo as you sat up, swallowing the bile that tried to make its way up. You were aware that you had hit your head, only you didn’t know how bad it was.

“Vinnie,” it was a mumble, you mouth stuffed with cotton as the world spun around you. Your arms shook, scraped and bloodied as they tried to hold you up. “Vinnie?” Slightly louder, and then he appeared by the door, bottles and chocolate bars in his hands, which were instantly dropped when he laid his eyes on you.

He yelled something into the house before sprinting towards you, almost slipping on some loose rocks. He kneeled down, his eyes wide as he grasped your head as carefully as he could.

“What the fuck happened?” He was frantic as his skin stained red from your blood which flowed freely from your head. You shrugged, half aware of what was going on. “Dunno, must’ve slipped or something,” you slurred as you tried to focus on him, your eyes wandering away constantly.

Noah ran up behind Vinnie, towels in hand. “I had Thomas call an ambulance- holy fuck!” The boy flinched away from your bloody figure.

“What’s happened? Why an ambulance?” You asked, trying to remove the towel which Vinnie used to apply pressure. “Y-you hit your head.” He was about to cry. He was terrified from the amount of blood that was leaking from your skull. “Please don’t move, Y/n, please,” he pleaded as Noah helped him remove your prying hands from the almost crying boy who’s own hands were covered in your blood.

“I told you not to get on it,” he said quietly, an far away echo of a siren sounded and more people had stepped out of the house with towels and water.

“I’m still fucking confused, what happened?” You sounded agitated, your legs restlessly kicking around. Noah glanced at his best friend who’s cheeks were flushed and eyes glassy from tears. He cleared his throat, focusing on you. “You hit your head, y/n/n.”

“Why?” The siren was loud now, grating against your skull. The brown haired boy gave you a small smile, waving at the ambulance as it drove up the driveway. “You fell.”

—————-

You sat on the hospital bed, a thick gauze wrapped around your head as a light were shined into your eyes. The doctor had introduced herself earlier but you had already forgotten her name. “right pupil is larger than the left,” she mumbled to herself as she took notes.

A knock sounded from the door, and a nurse stepped in, a gentle smile on his face. “Dr. Fletcher, they have some visitors.” You knew it was Vinnie.

“Let them in.” And you were right, but he was also followed by Noah.

Vinnie’s eyes were bloodshot, his hands shaking as he took you in. You were still dressed in your bloodied clothes, scrapes cleaned and bandaged and a thick gauze wrapped around your head.

“Will they be okay?” Noah asked as he stared you down after noticing his friend being tongue tied.

“Yep!” Your doctor gave the two boys a reassuring smile, “grade 2 concussion, so they’ll have to return for an evaluation tomorrow and the day after to assess their functioning, and if everything is as it should than my advice is plenty of rest and symptom limited activity.” You groaned, too many complicated words.

“My stitches?” You asked quietly, “oh! Right, they should dissolve by themselves, but keep the area clean and it should heal nicely with out any scarring.”

——————

Noah walked a few meters in front of you and Vinnie who’s hand was firmly grasping yours. “You scared me to death.” He whispered, not wanting to acknowledge the traumatizing scene that was replaying on a loop in his mind.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered back and he made you stop with a gently tug. “I love you, so fucking much,” his voice shook and his jaw tensed. You could only nod, “I love you too, and I’m sorry for not listening to you.”

His only response was to wrap his arms around you, kissing your cheek repeatedly. “I love you, I love you, I love you. Fuck, I love you so much it hurts.” He cried and you immediately followed, tears of both shame and guilt rushing down your cheeks.

You grabbed his cheeks and leaned your forehead on his, and the gauze resting uncomfortably between you both. And you kissed him for all he was worth. And fuck, he was worth every breath of fresh air you breathe. He was worth waking up in the morning for, knowing he’d be resting beside you, soundly asleep with his curls in a disarray.

Your lips left his, “I love you too,”

[bubblegumgothglados]

This is my RACK focused judgment free primer for heavy impact play. It covers every part of the body from head to toe and at no point does it say you can’t do something just the risks of doing so. I don't normally put warnings on my posts but most of my writing is fantasy, this isn't. I'm going to talk about any number of painful deaths and heaps more ways of becoming disabled.

In this primer "you" means the one doing the hitting, "victim" is the one being hit, and "tool" is the thing you're hitting with which could be a fist, foot, hammer, bat, anything. I'm writing it this way because its fun for me.

This primer also assumes you know the different types of impacts and how they affect the body, if you don't go look at my other writings.

Finally i take no responsibility for anything you do. All this information is what i could put together from medical journals and car crash reports if I've got anything wrong (and you can prove it) please let me know.

Enjoy

Head. With hits to the head, the two major concerns are concussions and neck injuries. A concussion occurs when a person’s brain impacts with the inside of their skull, this happens because the brain is suspended in fluid so if the skull stops or starts moving suddenly the brain will move out of sync with the skull. Symptoms of concussions can include headaches, confusion, lack of coordination, memory loss, nausea, vomiting, dizziness, ringing in the ears, sleepiness, and excessive fatigue. If your victim lost consciousness for any length of time and is having trouble speaking or understanding your words, you need to get them to the ER. There is no cure for a concussion but the best treatment is pain medication and activities that won’t tax the brain to give it time to recover. There are any number of ways to damage a neck, but generally it happens when a person’s neck is moved suddenly and violently or pushed past its limit. Minor injuries should heal by themselves within a few weeks but if unlucky pain and stiffness can last months or even years. For more major injuries, physical therapy or a neck brace might be necessary but only if the pain lasts longer than a few weeks. It’s also possible to hit someone hard enough to break their neck or fracture their skull but that takes a lot of force. All of these injuries can be avoided by supporting your victim’s head and neck by bracing their head against a surface or holding their head with your hand.

Jaw. It takes surprisingly little force to dislocate a jaw, you can do so with a good slap Dislocations are talked about in Note 3 at the bottom of this primer. Heavy bleeding from gums or a tooth that feels loose could indicate a fractured root. This is a fairly minor issue and if you see a dentist quickly they should be able to fix it back in place with no lasting damage. A tooth that has been knocked out completely should survive; get your victim to rinse their mouth out and rinse the tooth off and shove it back into the gap, and then have them see a dentist to make sure it’s properly seated and avoid chewing with it for a while.

Eyes. A fun combination of fragile and complicated. There's no first aid tips I can give you and it'll be real obvious if something is wrong. I will say you don't have to hit someones eye to give them a black eye, it’s bruising around the eye socket that matters. Also check Note 1 about the use of ice when treating injuries.

Nose. It’s more difficult than you think to break a nose. You definitely can with a good punch but you'll have to really commit. A broken nose isn't that serious (I've broken mine twice now) and isn't even ER worthy. If your victim is leaning backwards after breaking their nose the blood will run down the back of their throat potentially making them vomit or very sick. There is a chance a broken nose will heal in a way that restricts breathing in which case your victim may need surgery.

Cheek bone. Below the temple but above the gum line, running from just bellow their ear to their nose. Special mention to this spot because it’s the best place to hit your victim in the head (in my opinion). This piece of bone is very sturdy and not that risky to fracture. Plus, when you hit them here they have to watch it coming.

Neck. The windpipe, jugular, cranial nerves, vagus nerve, carotid arteries, and spine all live here and damage to any of these can cause permanent disability or death. Seek medical attention if your victim has trouble breathing or swallowing, or a lot of pain or swelling. Stingy tools are far less risky here than thuddy tools.

Shoulders. Note 2 on joints. The shoulder blades can either be an ideal impact location or one of the most risky depending on how it’s sitting. If the shoulder blade is jutting out away from the rest of the back, it’s very easy to damage If it’s laying flat against the back, it’s protected by a thick layer of fat and muscle.

Biceps. Top 4 impact location. The main concern is damaging the elbow and shoulder joints, if hitting in a way that will pull on those joints. Much like with the head, bracing the impact area against a surface will minimize the risk. Repeated hits to this area can temporarily disable the arm, which is fun.

Forearm. As above, the main risk is damaging the adjoining joints. There are also several important blood vessels and nerves running through this area and not a lot of fat an muscle to protect them.

Hands. Very little fat or muscle, mostly tendons, nerves, and cartilage. See Note 2 on joints. Special note to the palm, which hurts like hell but is relatively safe because of the extra muscle and fat in that area, great for punishment. Once again, stingy tools are much less risky than thuddy tools.

Breasts/ biceps. Top 4 impact locations. Thick layers of fat, muscle, and bone protect anything vital.

Sternum. That is the bone running down the center of a person’s chest that connects to their ribs. Not in itself very fragile but the cartilage that connects it to the ribs is easily damaged and will take a long time to heal. A fractured sternum will likely cause shortness of breath and pain when taking deep breaths. There's not much to be done about these injuries just rest and avoiding strenuous activity.

Spine. The single most risky impact location. Any damage to the spine risks permanent paralysis of everything below that point. As ever, stingy tools present less risk than thuddy tools.

Rib cage. Designed to protect a person’s most vital organs, the rib cage is very strong. Fractured ribs will cause pain breathing but aren't particularly serious. Snapped ribs can pierce organs If this happens, it'll be immediately obvious and medical intervention is required to prevent painful death. Special note to the 'floating' ribs at the bottom of a persons rib cage which don't connect to the sternum and are therefore much less resilient. Second special note to the spot right above a persons heart. A significantly hard impact at exactly the wrong moment in their cardiac cycle can stop their heart. They will loose consciousness and you will need to give them CPR until they can be defibrillated. This is ridiculously unlikely but better to mention just in case.

Abdomen. If you feel around your victim’s belly, you can figure out the line where their abdominal muscles sit. If you have them tense these muscles, you can hit them fairly hard with relatively little risk because the muscles plus the fat in that area create a thick layer of protection. (Pro tip: "Stay tense or this will might kill you" is not only true but hot and terrifying). Outside of that area or if they don't tense, there's real risk of bruising or even rupturing their intestines, which carries a 50-70% survival rate depending on how quickly you can get them to the ER. Symptoms to look out for are bloating, diarrhea, loss of appetite, and fatigue. Special note to the kidneys, which sit next to the backbone just below the rib cage and are very easily bruised. The primary symptom to look for is blood when peeing. As always, stingy tools carry less risk than thuddy tools.

Gluteus maximus. That's their butt. Hit it as hard as your victim will let you. Enough has been said about this region; I don't feel the need to recover that ground. Note 4 on bruises.

Genitals. I'm not going to get into CBT, that's a separate kink. But the vagina is very durable as it’s pretty much just flesh and fat on the outside Minimal risk, go to town.

Thigh. Top 4 impact location. Outer thigh will hurt more and bruise more. As with the head and arms, the primary risk is damaging the adjoining joints. Note 4 on bruises because this is the primary place for DVT.

Calf. As above. Shins are also a great location for punishment because they hurt like hell.

Feet. Very similar to hands. The soles of a person’s foot are intended to impact with the ground frequently and with some force, so they can take a fair bit of punishment.

Note 1. Ice. It is no longer suggested injury procedure to use ice to reduce swelling. Yes, it is effective at reducing swelling but we now understand swelling is an important part of the healing process and although ice might make it feel and look better in the short term, it actually increases the amount of time the injury will take to heal. You want the blood to be able to flow to the injury to take away dead cells and bring nutrients and energy.

Note 2. Joints. Neck, spine, shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, hips, knees, ankles, and toes. The reason these are almost always labeled "red" or "no go" on impact play body maps is because these are choke points for blood vessels and nerves; they are made of fragile tendons and cartilage, and they have very little padding for protection. They're also important for movement day to day and very difficult to heal properly. If a joint is damaged, you can buy braces for every joint from most pharmacies.

Note 3. Dislocations. If you're lucky, a partial dislocation will relocate by itself if you move the joint around as you normally would, not forcing it or trying to manipulate it with your hand, just moving it with its own muscles. If it does naturally relocate but you still have pain a few weeks later seek a medical professional. If you're unlucky or if it’s a total dislocation, you will have to see a medical professional. DO NOT TRY TO FORCE IT BACK INTO PLACE!

Note 4. Bruises. Normally, bruises are nothing to worry about but there are situations where a deep bruise can be a health concern. If the bruise continues to get worse after a week, there could be a hematoma under the skin, which is like a blood clot, and might need to be removed. The other possible complication is Deep Vein Thrombosis, which is a blood clot and can be lethal, if not treated quickly. With DVT, the symptoms are tenderness, warmth, and a "pulling sensation" which are pretty normal impact play symptoms. But if you're doing impact play at the level that could cause DVT, then you and your victim should know their healing process intimately, so if something feels off or isn't healing right, get them to a medical professional; better safe than dead.

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hiii! So here’s an idea: Leo with Jason’s ex and dealing with insecurities about not being as good as Jason ad being a bf… wdyt? Ps: if u could write something for this I’d be like loving it but if not nvm! Ofc! Kisses and hearts and hugs and all in between dear!

So I went completely off topic but this has been sitting in my inbox for ages so I pumped this out in forty minutes, <3

kisses kisses love kisses --- Leo V x reader

»»————-　★　————-««

-It wasn’t your fault that your boyfriend stuck his tongue out a little bit when he was concentrating, and how he always seemed to have a song stuck in his head so he’d do little dances as he searched for tools, and the way his stupidly fluffy hair always seemed to bounce around.

-And somehow he didn’t even mind when you watched him work, or just did your own thing on one of the few couches in Bunker 9 that Harley hadn’t broken the springs of jumping up and down. You could just chill out and every few minutes he would walk past carrying saws and drills and kiss you on the top of your head.

-Although if you were being honest, sometimes you’d maybe might just take his tools out of his hands and pull him around to the other side of the couch for a few more kisses that would turn into Leo sitting opposite you cross legged giggling and whispering the most random things while you pressed kisses to his jaw and his neck and sometimes his lips just to shut him up so you could keep making out.

-He wasn’t very good at making out, you’d found out.

-Not in the way you’d think from that statement, he was a great kisser [you knew from experience. So much experience,]. Leo would just get so overwhelmed, in a good way of course, and forget to kiss back. He’d sit there beaming like a lovesick idiot while you gave him hickeys. You’d have to snap him out of it every once in a while because apparently after dating for a good while, he still couldn’t handle it. 

-Of course there were those times he’d just pounce with his slim fingers and his crooked teeth that seemed to become attached to your mouth in seconds. 

-You’d be wearing hoodies and concealer the next day, to put it simply. 

-Back to the point. 

-There’d still be nights where he’d be a bit off and you’d find a packet of oreo’s [probably Piper’s], and hot chocolate with mini marshmallows for you both. His sweet tooth could get dangerous sometimes. 

-You’d gotten pretty good at figuring out the difference between Leo’s bad days, and Leo’s very bad no good days. 

-Usually the first example could be fixed with snacks and a lot of kisses, which you weren’t exactly complaining about. The second kind, though, although snacks and kisses always helped, were usually spent trudging around one of your cabins in pajamas watching movies because there was nothing worse for everyone then an Angry Leo on the loose.

-Sometimes you wouldn’t even realize something was wrong until Leo would change into one of your hoodies and turn the lights off quickly with a tired ‘goodnight mi amor’.

-You knew to give him a while, Leo wasn’t one to express his more negative feelings [positive ones on the other hand, the whole of camp could pick Leo in a crowd just by his laugh], so you reached across your bed, which wasn’t hard. Single beds weren’t exactly roomie, even if your boyfriend was incredibly scrawny. 

-Even Leo on a very bad no good day couldn’t resist cuddles. 

-He is also the snuggliest little spoon to ever exist. You’d wrap your arms around his middle and on the nights when Leo didn’t want to talk he’d still fall back into you and you could feel his sleepy smile in the air.

-Leo knew that you loved him. 

-Most of the camp knew that you loved him, and vice versa.

-You’d had enough conversations at this point that you could just start pressing kisses to parts of Leo [with permission of course, and not in the way yall are thinking] to show all that love.

-He had insecurities, but he was working on them and you were so proud of him. There were always bad days though, so you would hold his hands in your own and whisper about how fluffy his hair was and how pretty his hands were and the fact that if he ever hated his body again you would kiss him until he couldn’t even think about unhappy things.

-However Leo acted after that, whether it was descending into a fit of giggles or continuing to grumble about how he wasn’t a very good boyfriend, he would be kissed until he couldn’t think. 

-It was safe to say that Leo had found a concealer to match his skin tone only a few weeks after you started dating. 

»»————-　★　————-««