#(which is also why I didn’t draw them with any scars)

[rozugold]

Hi rozu. I have another thought about your genus loci Tommy art that's probably just me being in hyper writer brain mode, but-

the way that his shirt in the second image of him and Tubbo is so...plain. It doesn't look like his usual tee with the red sleeves. It isn't a cardigan or anything. It's just a comfortable looking plain t-shirt that he's probably sewn to fit his current size at the end of his physical existence. Because he knows he won't need clothes for much longer. He knows they'll either vanish or be left behind as soon as he merges with the landscape, so he's not wearing anything that he'll get attached to or making it pretty or giving it any personal touches. IDK it just. made me think for a sec,,,,ough

OUHGG…

[mostly-imagines]

So This Is Love

jason todd x fem!reader

aka you show each other what love is supposed to be like

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: section 1: close-call panic attack for j, mentions of ptsd for j // section 2: implied sexual activity // section 3: mild angst w comfort // section 4: implied ptsd for j

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

The nightmare wasn’t anything unusual for him, but it did feel particularly vivid tonight. It was more of a memory than anything, though. That same one that plays on a loop in his head throughout the night the more he tries to push it away during the day. It was the last thwack of the crowbar that had him jolt awake in bed.

You shift in your spot next to him, opening your eyes to see his rattled state. If he’d been in a clearer frame of mind he would’ve lied to you. He would’ve expertly leveled his breathing and told you everything was fine and to go back to sleep.

But instead, he looks over at you with wide eyes, chest heaving and shaking like he might start hyperventilating at any moment.

You shoot up from the bed, instantly on alert. This isn’t the first time he’s had one of these nightmares around you, so it’s not hard for you to guess where this is coming from.

“Jay? What’s—what do you need?” You know better than to try and touch him unprompted right now, you’ve panicked enough yourself to know that sudden contact only makes it worse.

“I—I can’t, I—” Now he really looks like he’s about to lose all control of his breathing.

You sit up further, moving onto your knees. “Here, let me—can I see your hand?” you ask gently, holding your own out.

He extends it to you without question, a tiny act of vulnerability that he couldn’t have dreamed of doing in this state before he met you.

You flip his hand over, palm-up and start tracing lines over it in the moonlight. You’re looking at his hand quite intently like there’s something very important on it. It’s enough to make him question what the hell you’re doing. 

“I can read palms.” You tell him, simply. 

“What?” His voice almost breaks, like he’s right at the edge of tears. 

“Yeah, my friend taught me. I can tell the future and everything.” You look up at him, fingers not stopping their trailing. “Do you wanna hear yours?”

All he can do is nod.

You smile and start to inspect his hand carefully, tracing over calluses and a few tiny scars. You draw your finger across the short, deep line parallel to his fingers.

“This one…see the way it curves upwards right there?” He nods. “That means you’re very resourceful and ambitious. Like a leader.” His breathing starts to slow as he watches you, trying to focus on what you’re showing him in the dim light from the window.

“And this one,” you trace the line that curves downwards in the middle, “This one says that you’re strong and stubborn, which I can confirm,” he huffs out a laugh. It’s little but it’s genuine. “But it also means that you’re resilient. You’re built to overcome things and bounce back even stronger because of them. Which I can also confirm.”

He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. He takes in a deep breath, watching you draw patterns across the base of his palm.

The sensation soothes him in a way that he frankly didn’t know he could be soothed. He figures he usually can’t, except when it’s you. He tries to match your breathing, syncing up with you. If anyone else tried to get this close to him when he was on the verge of a panic attack they’d get punched, at best.

But you…you always know how to help him. He’s considered in the past that he did something really right somewhere down the line and you were sent to him as reward. He’d racked his mind for hours of every good thing he’d ever done, trying to find one that could explain your presence in his life. For anything that could explain why he deserved you. He poured and poured over every memory he could dig up but couldn’t find any good he’d ever done that surmounted to a single piece of the good in your heart.

There was a time when he would’ve thought—when he did think that you were only in his life to be taken away as soon as he felt safe. That would certainly be in line with previous experiences. But you showed him quickly that you have this way about you…it makes those loud thoughts in the back of his head shut up and just listen. Listen to your words, your breathing, your footsteps, your laugh…anything he could. Because it turns out, when he listens, he feels safe. 

He’s quiet for a long time, contentedly watching you work. He notices that at some point you’d stopped tracing the lines and began drawing designs instead. 

He breaks the silence after several minutes, softly commenting, “You don’t know how to read palms.”

“No, I do not.” 

But you continued to leave your invisible art on the palm of his hand just the same, both of you taking comfort in the sound of the other's breathing and the soothing feeling of each other’s skin.

The radio plays lightly in the background, surrounding your night with soft ambience. You’re working at the cutting board with tomatoes as Jason leans against the counter next to you, having just finished getting the pasta set up on the stove.

His hands find your hips, resting them there as he watches you work over your shoulder.

“Watch your thumb.” He comments when the knife gets a little too close for his liking.

You shrug him off, “I know how to do it.”

He eyes the way the knife stutters as you cut through the tomato, slicing through not very cleanly at all. “Doesn’t look like it.”

You ignore him, elbowing him gently in the abdomen. He’s joking, but he’s not. The skill level you’re displaying is only above Bruce and slightly below Tim, which is not great.

“Will you let me do it?” he asks you when he realizes there’s going to be no improvement. 

“Fine.” You relent with faux annoyance. 

You switch over to the stovetop, keeping a careful eye on the pasta as it cooks. It’s quiet for a moment as he works, chopping with much more efficiency than you had.  

“You didn’t have to stay here tonight, you know.” You say quietly, still intently watching the stove.

In spite of the music, your low volume does nothing to faze him as he continues his actions, “Why wouldn’t I?”

You stir the contents of the saucepan around. “Well, I know Roy wanted you to go out…”

“Not missing much.” He mumbles, opening up the above cabinet to get out plates.

You lull your head to the side, “Come on, he’s your best friend.”

Jason frowns. “He’s not my best friend.”

You turn your head towards him, “No?”

He meets your gaze, frown consistent. “No. You are.” He says it like he’s confused that you don’t know that. 

“Oh.” You smile, “You’re my best friend too.”

His eyes soften at that, a light smile gracing his lips. He knew that, and he knew you’d say it, but hearing it out loud just…does something to him.

You flick the stove top off, prompting him to on instinct reach for the Marinara jar and crack it open for you. He hands it to you and you accept with a smile, twisting it open the rest of the way as you turn back to the stove. The jar sputters as you open, spitting out sauce.    

“Oh, shit.” You hiss, when the splatter hits your shirt.

He takes one glance at the mess on your shirt and pulls his own shirt off his back. He’s tugging yours off just as fast, replacing it with his. You’ve barely processed what happened as he scans your body, eyes lingering on where his shirt stops at your thighs. “Can you wear this to bed tonight?” He asks, hands running over your waist.

You laugh, “Really?”

He meets your eyes, face serious. “Yes.” He squeezes your hip, “You look good.”

“In your shirt.” You say with a knowing smile.

“In my shirt.” He confirms.

You turn back to the stove to dish out the salsa, his hands skimming around your thighs as you do. He watches you as you work, though rather than watching your hands he’s fixated on the size of his shirt over you and how fucking good you look right now. 

“Or…” He sweeps his eyes over your legs before looking back up at you again. “Did’ya turn the stove off?”

You tilt your head at him, “I did…?”

He grins at you, lifting you up by your thighs til you’re a head above him. “Good.” He maneuvers you over to the counter, setting you on top. He brings your wrist up to his mouth to press a delicate kiss before dropping to his knees.

You’ve been laying in bed for at least three hours, bordering on sleep but never quite falling in. You and Jason had a little spat, though nothing insurmountable, it was still the biggest fight you’ve had to date. You’d tried going out (at night) to see your friend that was having a hard time, and yeah, you should’ve told Jason you were going. It was only five blocks, give or take, but in Gotham at eleven o’clock at night, it’s a risk to say the least.

You should’ve told Jason, you know. But he wouldn’t have let you go or would’ve insisted on putting hold on patrolling to accompany you. You always feel bad when he does that—people could be getting hurt somewhere because you needed your boyfriend to walk you down the street. Unfortunately, it didn’t matter in the end because he caught you red handed before you’d even made it a full block away. Of all the nights for him to come home early, it had to be this one.

He dropped down from the rooftop behind you and scared the absolute hell out of you, and you didn’t even have time to be relieved that it was just him because he was on you in a flash. 

“What the hell are you doing out here?” His voice was hard through the modulator, a rare tone for him to use with you.

“I just—my friend—” he sounded tired and angry, sure signs that he’d really not had a good night so far which was probably all the more reason that you shouldn’t have been out by yourself in the middle of the night.

“What are you—no! Go home. Now.” You would’ve, you really would’ve, but your friend called you crying about her boyfriend cheating on her again and she needed the in person support. 

“Ja—” You’d cut yourself off, “It’s down the street, it’s fine—” He dropped his shoulders in a huff and faced you dead-on. You didn’t need him to take his helmet off to know exactly how he was looking at you.

He dropped down and hooked his arm around the back of your legs, lifting you off the ground with no discernible effort. “Wha—”

He started walking before you were even fully planted on his shoulder, arm wrapping around your legs to hold you in place. 

“Hood! I am so fucking serious, put me down!” You swatted at his back and struggled in his grip, though in the back of your mind you knew it was a pointless effort. Even if you were a match in size, whatever mood he’d been pushed in was enough to guarantee that you had no chance. 

He ignored you, not even pretending that you were giving him any difficulty with your squirming. He marched you back down the block to your apartment, not stopping until you’re outside your door. He set you down in between him and the entrance, digging into his pocket for his key.

He kicked the door shut behind him, finally letting you go. He wordlessly grabbed one of his spare guns and two cartridges of ammo from inside the closet by the door and turned back to you with a firm stance. “Stay here.”

You immediately tried to push past him again, at that point more angry about him dragging you back here than about having to duck out on your friend. He stopped you, holding you by the arms, which led you to respond by raising your voice at him, “Jason!” 

But he didn’t waste any time letting you know how it is, “I will lock you in this fucking apartment. Stay. Here.” Him cursing at you like that was very rare and not a particularly good sign, so through your anger you’d made the decision that it was better to relent, for now. Your posture dropped and you frowned at him resentfully, a visible cue that you were giving in without you having to say it. 

He stayed true to his word and locked the door on his way out, though knowing you could easily unlock it from the inside. You’d trudged into your bedroom, slamming the door behind you.   

Now you lay on Jason’s usual side of the bed, partially because you do miss him, partially because the bed feels a little less empty when you can’t see all the empty space. You know he was just trying to keep you safe after what was probably a rough start to the night, so you feel less than great that you’d yelled at him.

Your dwelling over the memory is interrupted by a quiet creak of the bedroom door. You blink up at him blearily, “Jay?” You sit up, furrowing your brow. You didn’t even hear him come home. “What’s wrong?” You figure he must be hurt to come in here—it’s not unknown for him to sleep on the couch if he feels like he did something wrong or upset you.   

Your eyes attempt to adjust to the darkness, scanning over him for any injuries. He’s out of his armor and in his regular clothes which means he must have showered already. And you know from dozens of nights patching him up that he always tends to his injuries before showering.

This leaves you confused, as you look up at him, waiting for an answer. “I can’t…I don’t want to sleep without you.” He whispers, eyes on the floor. 

You shuffle back into your usual spot near the wall and hold your hand out to him expectantly. You’re still a bit cross with him, but you miss him too much to care right now.

It takes him a second to move, but he eventually lingers away from the door and makes his way to the bed. He takes your hand as he climbs onto the bed, letting go only when you lay down after him, staring up at the ceiling next to him. 

You weren’t entirely expecting him to wrap his arms around you and tug you into his chest. Somewhere in the back of your mind you’d assumed he would lay on his side and you on yours and that would be enough for him to fall asleep with. Instead, he tightens his arms and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You lay there in silence for a couple minutes, both thinking.

“You’re mad.” He mumbles into your shoulder after a while. You know he feels badly about the dispute, you knew it while it was still happening. As hard as he tries, he’s not very good at hiding his emotions. Not with you, anyways.

You shrug slightly. “Barely. I’ll get over it. This is more important.”

He picks his head up to look at you, “I love you. You know that?”

You wiggle out of his grip a bit, making him frown. You use the new space to flip over to face him, before placing his arm back around your waist. You peek up at him, looking him in the eyes, “I do. You know I love you. Even when we fight.”

He looks at you like he’s a bit thrown off by your words. “I’m sorry. It was just…it was a rough night…I—I’m sorry.” He tells you dolefully.  

You shake your head, frowning. “Don’t be. I should’ve texted you.”

“It—yeah. Please. I just worry about you.” He looks so sad and it makes you feel somehow worse.

“I know,” you whisper, “I’m sorry.”  

“Don’t be.” He kisses your forehead, not moving away after.

You feel like you can finally relax and your tense body doesn’t take long to slacken in his hold. Soon after, he does the same, both of you closing your eyes. You feel your heart slow and your mind starts to find a space of peace.    

Jason didn’t get it at first.

Honestly, he didn’t really realize that you noticed things about him that even he didn’t see.

Your neighbor was having their place remodeled and you knew there would be construction going on near your apartment all day.

Jason didn’t really care, planning to bury his head under the pillow and trying to sleep through it. You however, seemed very adamant about getting out of the apartment that day. You’d left hours before the construction crew had even gotten there, telling him it was a nice day out.

It was an alright day, but he let you have your way.

You held his hand as you walked down the street, looking into shop windows and commenting on things you think he’d like.

You led him into a book store excitedly, telling him about how the author he’d been binging had just published something new. He didn’t even know that.

You were browsing the sections, flipping through books as you went. You peered across the shop at a kid holding an absolutely massive pile of books, who was clearly struggling to keep them in his arms.

His mother tried to help him but he shook his head and strided away independently, albeit very slowly. The weight of the books though, did get the best of him, and you could tell by the quivering in his arms that he was going to drop them.

“Loud noise.” You said quickly, seemingly out of the blue. Jason turned to you, confused, before seeing the stack the books splat flat onto the ground. It was indeed a loud noise.

He tilts his head at you, though you’re still busy watching the little boy as he throws his head back in frustration.

“What was that?”

You look at him, “He dropped his books.”

“Yeah, I saw. But why—”

His question gets cut off by the kid bursting into tears, wailing. You turn back to look at him, your gaze getting caught by the new book you’d been telling him about. “Ooh!”

You grab his hand and pull him over with you, smiling widely when you have the book in your hands. The sight of you makes him feel so warm so fast that he forgets about the odd interaction all together.

A couple hours later, you sit outside a cafe and eat lunch together, his back to the road, you sitting diagnal to him.

He’s telling you about the shit Damian got in trouble for at school last week, holding your hand with his right hand and eating with his left.

“He thinks he’s not going to get expelled for pulling shit like that every other week, it’s ridiculous.” He says, tossing his napkin down on the table.

Your smile is wavers as your eyes move past his shoulder looking down the block before widening, “Car—”

The sudden noise startles him enough to make him visibly jump, hand flying to where his holster would be. He looks over at the fender bender, shoulders relaxing.

He turns back to you to find your eyes looking far more worried than they should. You seem to be scanning his face, looking for something and he’s about to ask you what’s wrong when it sinks in.

He does get scared by unexpected loud sounds, doesn’t he? He never really thinks of it until it happens, but his mind is trained to expect gunshots or crowbars making impact.

It doesn’t happen often, but it noticeably takes a little piece out of him when it does.

“You…” he tries, but falters. He’s not even sure he’s processing this right.

He’s never seriously tried to fathom that you love him half as much as he loves you, though love doesn’t feel like a strong enough word. He lives and breathes for you, you’ve become a lifeline he’d been stranded without for most of his life. But now you're here and you’re everything, you’re in his head all the time, in every emotion he feels.

He thinks he’s here for you, that he was brought back from the dead because of you. You can’t possibly understand how much his heart is full of you, he doesn’t understand it himself.

He knows you love him, he’s gotten that through his head. But he can’t get a grasp on the idea that he’s equally matched in the who loves who the most battle.

Do you really care that much about him to go out of your way to keep track of things that might startle him? He knows there’s a million things about you that are in the back of his mind at any given time, but surely you don’t operate that same way with him?

Do you?

There’s this burning in his heart that aches and it only gets stronger when he sees you looking at him like that. So genuine. With care, with love.

He squeezes your hand, “I love you. More than anything.”

The look on your face sinks back into that sweet, adorable look that he’s so used to and it makes him want to scream.

You smile that bright smile and it sends his heart rocketing into oblivion. “I love you.” You squeeze his hand back, “More than everything.”

He feels like his heart might burst through his chest.

[iluvloganhowlett]

Feel free to reject this request since it’s kinda heavy, but maybe Hugh kissing the reader’s sh scars but it’s like friends to lovers? Preferably f reader but gen is fine too

YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL ❀˖°

in which logan draws stars around your scars

warnings: HEAVY MENTIONS OF SH⚠️⚠️ DO NOT READ IF THIS IS A TOPIC YOU CANNOT HANDLE, angst, blood

i actually love this request as someone who struggles w sh themselves so pls don’t be afraid to ask smt like this!

i also switched it to logan instead of hugh bc i feel like he just fits the part better and this isn’t friends to lovers it’s just lovers😭 sorry

“you drew stars around my scars. but now im bleeding.”

you couldn’t help it, the burning sensation of the blood dripping down over your old scars was a feeling you couldn’t resist.

for 2 years now you’ve told yourself that you’d stop, thay you’d get better. especially since logan came around and made you want to get better. but you couldn’t, no matter how hard you tried.

more sooner than later did the tears of guilt and regret begin pooling your eyes, the hot liquid dripping down your face as you held the cold towel to your wrist harder.

you knew logan would be up here any minute; his class was coming to an end soon. the last thing you needed was him walking in on you cutting yourself after you told him you’d stop.

you took a deep breath, drying your wrist and slapping a few bandaids on it before looking at yourself in the mirror; you were a mess. your face was flushed, covered in streaks of dried tears as the new ones kept coming. your hair was a ruffled mess, you were drowning in your hoodie and fuck did your wrist burn.

“y/n/n?” you heard from afar, shit. surely logan was in your bedroom, waiting for you to come out of the bathroom.

you sighed, praying that your voice would be strong. “i’m in here, just a minute!” you called out, cursing yourself for your voice cracking at the last second.

immediately logan’s concern grew higher, slowly approaching the door and leaning his head against it. your nervous sobs were hard to miss, especially from right against the door.

“y/n,” logan called firmly, “open the door f’me please.”

your eyes widened, noticing how logan’s voice grew louder. it didn’t take you long to pick up on how close logan was to you.

“i can’t,” your voice cracked, you looked down at your hands that shook rapidly, afraid of what was to come.

logan’s brows furrowed, he’d had enough. you heard one of his claws retract as he picked the lock.

quickly, you took out your box, shoving your blade into it and throwing it god knows where into the drawer just before logan barged in.

“are you okay in here?” he asked, glancing down at your exposed wrist, covered in bandaids.

you followed his eyes, yours widening when you noticed you forgot to roll down your sleeve.

logan felt like he could physically feel the pit growing in his stomach, realizing what you had done. logan had never understood why you chose to hurt yourself like this. but he did understand what it was like to endure so much pressure and emotion that you don’t know how to contain it. and so he never screamed, or yelled, or frankly even asked ‘why?,’ because not everyone has a ‘why.’

your tears were flowing once more as you moved closer to logan, “i’m sorry,” you sobbed, burying yourself in his arms.

he immediately welcomed you, wrapping his strong

arms around your shoulders, rocking you back and forth in hopes to calm you down.

he looks down at you, his own eyes glossed over slightly, he hates seeing you like this, especially when he knows he can’t do anything about it.

soon logan loosens his grip, reaching gently for your left wrist and bringing it up to his lips, planting a soft and gentle kiss on one of your old scars.

“my baby,” he mutters, kissing another one while ensuring he leaves your fresh one alone, “my sweet baby.”

you can do nothing but sob harder. you’d expected numerous reactions out of logan but this definitely wasn’t one of them.

“i love you,” kiss. “i’ll always love you, doll.” kiss. “y’know that? i’ll never stop loving you.” kiss.

your eyes dart down as you feel a drop of water on your wrist as logan continues kissing up and down your arm.

he was crying.

his confidence wavers, “you’re beautiful,” kiss. “so, so beautiful,” his voice begins to crack as he leans a head down on your shoulder.

logan takes a deep breath before dropping your wrists and instead taking your face in his hands, forcing you to look him in the eyes. “you’re always gonna be beautiful t’me, alright? the most beautiful girl i’ve ever seen.”

it was the first time you’d ever seen logan cry this hard, the hot tears pouring down his face at an unbelievable pace. you’d be a monster to say this didn’t make you tear up in the slightest.

you place your hands on his wrists, his hands still holding onto your face. slowly he leans in, closing the space between you two. kissing you in such a gentle, loving way that it makes your legs feel weak.

“i love you, logan.”

“you’re beautiful, peach.”

this is so sad☹️

taglist!!

@velvrei @spazwayy @oatmilkriver @sseleniaa @mei-simp @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesangel @realsimpbitchshit @pickuptruck01 @keigohawks @thereallchristine @zeeader @pink-jello-fish @twinky-wink @malfoys-demigod @seamlessepiphany @withafoll @lulawantmula @gigachadcowboy

[aniimoni]

So why would your lamb have a keloid scar? Genuinely curious :0

OHHHHHH MY GOODNESSS!!!! OK OK 1) THANK YOU FOR ASKINGG and 2) Sorry this is such a late reply, been busy.

Anywho, my lamb has a keloid scar because I think it would just make sense healing wise- but let me elaborate.

CW talk about scarring + some imagery (just drawings)

Keloids are a bunch of extra skin tissue that has formed to close a scar. Don’t ask me the science behind it, I am only speaking from my own experience (wildly enough, I also have a keloid on my neck lol). An axe to the neck wouldn’t be just one quick swipe, so it wouldn’t be a clean cut. To me, it would only make sense that it would take a lot of extra skin tissue to heal a wound like the lamb’s, considering the manner in which it happened.

In my au (named Hearts to Keep btw), the only way that TOWW was able to put the lamb back together was by making their body form that extra tissue on their neck.

When they were first resurrected, it looked a lot more red because still kind of in that “healing process”. They didn’t cover it at first because 1) a lot of fabrics just feel uncomfortable near/on it, and 2) they just didn’t feel like it 🤷‍♂️ This led to a lot of their cult members being taken aback VERY frequently:

More rambling + drawings ⬇️ so i don’t take up ppl’s screens

And more often than not, they would constantly forget the basic courtesy of not touching strangers (again, taken from my experience).

Which, of course, annoyed them very much. This makes them look for solutions, leading them to the conclusion that it would be better to cover it; mainly due to the fact that cultists don’t know what personal space is when it comes to them, yes, but it’s also because it bothers them that it’s so exposed in battle and to fabrics/their wool. Sensory issues basically.

Much to their avail, they can’t find anything that feels even the slightest bit comfortable around that area. And so, they decide to bring up this problem to none other but the one who started it.

He doesn’t really know what they would like for him to do. They both go back and forth, half arguing, half trying to understand eachother. Eventually, it is brought to their attention that ICHOR is very useful and versatile! And what is ichor? The blood of a god. And who is in the room with us right now? A god.

TADAAA!!! Lamb gets their very own little neck cover + their bell! Surprisingly, ichor makes for very good fabric.

Of course, this doesn’t erase all the experiences that come with having a keloid, but it takes unwanted attention/touching away from them.

HOWEVER!!! The keloid also ties to their emotions- in more ways than one- but, maybe that will be for another post 😋

Let me know if there are any more questions, cotl au related or just keloid related. Goodnight, and thank you for coming to my TedTalk 🫶🏼

[python333]

Hello!! I absolutely adore your 141 platonic fics, I litterlay giggle and kick my feet when you post new storys about it. Especially since they're always gender neutral! Litteraly always check to see if youve posted a new fic, but anways!

I'm a really big sucker for found family mental health fics, especially when I'm experiencing rough times. If your comfortable with it, I was wondering if you could make the 141 catch Reader self harming or maybe just seeing the self harm on their arms accidentally and comforting them. Always love a comforting found family fic on cold nights.

If it's easier, I really love really any of your hurt/comfort type 141 fics with all my soul and eat them up anytime you post them. Especially since there isnt much gn!reader and TF 141 platonic hurt/comfort fics. So if you aren't busy than that's another option I would love to see!!

If your uncomfortable with it then that's fine and you can just ignore this post! Make sure to take care if youself aswell author. You're absolutely amazing! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

self-slaughter — python333

— — — —

synopsis reader is a medic and is caught harming themselves by the 141 in the medbay!

relationships platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

characters cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

word count 6.6k

warnings self-harm [specifically using a scalpel], self-harm scars, dark thoughts [nothing too bad, but thoughts of pulling off your skin and harming yourself], painful wound cleaning [with iodopovidone], 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

note hello anon!! i too am a big sucker for found family mental health fics, and completely understand this request, and i will happily write it for you!! a lot of this is based on my own experiences with this, so i hope that's okay and that you enjoy the fic!! as well as this request, i'll use this fic as an excuse to write a few prompts on my bad things happen bingo card, which will be displayed at the end of the fic! the prompt used will be: painful wound cleaning! expect wayyyy more angst after this LMAO. also, if this feels like glorification or anything else inappropriate for a fic like this, then please let me know! since it's mainly based on my own experiences, i assume it wouldn't feel *too* much like that, but still!

It gets kind of old after so long of doing it. 

Almost like it’s a chore—as if stealing glances at your medical equipment, tools meant to save the lives of others, and wishing that it were being used to draw blood from your body was just an inconvenience. You complain about it in your head like you used to about school, like it was nothing more than some homework that was due a minute before midnight. 

Right now, you’re alone in the medical bay. It wasn’t often that you were, typically two bumbling idiots would stumble in every few minutes talking about how they got injured while sparring, but for the past thirty minutes it’s been silent. While you appreciated the break from the constant explanations of why the soldiers you were to tend to had gotten injured, with the silence came very unwanted thoughts. 

And with nobody to focus on came your unwilling lingering stare at the sharp scalpel on the small metal equipment cart that was just a few feet away from where you sat. It didn’t help that you felt oddly guilty today, either. 

Well, the guilt wasn’t odd. You knew where it came from. It just felt odd, considering the cause for it happened a week ago. 

The cause had been on a critical mission last week, where you were responsible for carrying medical supplies and ensuring the team’s well-being and general health. The medical equipment wasn’t particularly expensive or hard to get, but it was still incredibly important. 

However, on that same mission, right towards the end of it, you’d been caught in the midst of an intense gunfight. Distracted by the heavy enemy fire, you dropped the small bag you’d been using to carry the medical supplies, and hadn’t noticed you did until it was too late. By the time you and the others were out and heading back to base, you had just realized you left behind the medical equipment. 

All week, your fellow task force members had reassured you that it was okay and that it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering nobody got hurt. Still, even a week later, you’re hung up on it. Had someone gotten injured, what could you have done? You didn’t have any supplies to help them, so what would you have done then? Just the thought of that possibility makes you shudder. 

The scalpel looks so tempting.

It’s not like you hadn’t used it before—you have the scars to prove you had, ranging from small lines that could be mistaken for cat scratches to tiger-stripe length cuts that make your thighs look as though they’d been mauled by a large animal. As elegantly as you describe them in your head, the visuals of them aren’t nearly as pretty. With the help of that scalpel, a few sharp needles, and some medical scissors, you’d successfully made it look as though a bear had tried to attack you and tear your legs off. 

Ironic, isn’t it? A medic harming themselves? 

Your job is to literally save the lives of others, and here you are, staring at the closest thing you have to a knife in the medbay. It’s become as easy as blinking for you—which is scary, honestly, the way you’ve developed a tolerance for cutting yourself and stapling your skin back together if you’ve cut too long or deep. 

It’s no longer enough to just scrape something sharp across your skin and watch blood bubble up from the broken seams of your flesh, no, now you have to cut even deeper to actually feel anything. You have to feel the scalpel being buried to the hilt in your flesh, and you have to see the way blood spurts out of the self-inflicted wound after you pull out the tool. 

You continue to stare at the scalpel, sure that you look like you’re in some sort of trance right now. 

It looks so tempting. You can remember the last time you used it—three days ago, the longest you’d gone without it in a while. Similar to cigarette-addicts, you often tell yourself that you’re able to stop whenever you’d like—that you’re able to quit at any time. It’s a lie, and you know it, but you still like to pretend that it’s true. 

You’re still staring at the scalpel. 

Its sharpened edge reflects the overhead light, creating a bright glow that strains your eyes when you stare at it for too long. The metal of the handle is worn down from use, even though it’d only been in the medbay for maybe a few months—something nobody had questioned yet, thankfully. The clean blade, replaced just yesterday, had no traces of filth or grime on it, making it even more tempting. 

You blink. You hadn’t noticed the burning of your eyes until you forced them away from the small knife. 

You move your gaze to your lap, where you fiddle with your fingers, gently tugging at a hangnail that’s been lingering on your thumb for the past few minutes. As you pull on it, you feel the sting that it brings, though that sting now feels dull compared to the other things you’ve done to yourself. 

It almost feels like a small pinch compared to the ways you’ve mutilated your thighs on certain nights that didn’t allow you the energy to do anything else, or the ways you’ve carved apologies in the forms of lines into your arms to try and gain forgiveness for your thoughts and temptations. 

You pull the hangnail off completely and watch the miniscule droplets of blood bleed through your flesh and meet your skin and nail. Before you only had the energy to do your job and harm yourself, you would’ve hissed at the sting pulling off the small bit of skin caused you and grabbed a bandaid immediately, but now, all you can think about is how it isn’t enough. 

About how much better you’d feel if you pulled all your skin off. If you could feel every inch of your skin stretched to its limits and torn off of your body, because God knows you deserve it. 

The thought makes you wince. That is… disgusting. Why am I thinking about that? You shake your head in hopes that it would shake away the dark thought, but instead the action makes it rattle inside your brain and break off into tiny bits in pieces, small unwanted thoughts of wounding your flesh rolling around your mind. 

Similarly to Sisyphus and his boulder, you try to push those thoughts out of your mind, your hands starting to curl into tight fists, but you just can’t. Every time you push a thought back, it comes rolling back to the forefront of your mind, the momentum it gets from being pushed back so far only to get rocketed forwards making it even more unbearable to think about. 

The fists your hands have formed become tighter. 

Each thought that gets pushed back only jumps forwards once again, ricocheting around your brain, the effort of trying to ignore them making your ears ring. 

Before you realize it, your gaze snaps back to the scalpel. 

You don’t even notice the blood that begins to spill from your palms from how deeply your nails cut into your skin. 

Every thought tries to be louder than the other, creating an unholy cacophony of sound; a terrifying harmony that only grew louder every second that passed. You stare at the scalpel. It continues to reflect the bright gleam of the overhead light, and it continues to make your eyes strain the more you look at it, but you can’t find it in yourself to be all that bothered about the eyestrain. 

You unclench your fists and stand up, walking the short distance over to the metal medical cart where the scalpel lays, and you grab the handle of it with shaky hands. You look over at the door for a moment, and stay there for another few seconds.

Once you see that nobody’s coming in, you rush yourself to one of the beds, sliding open the curtains in front of it and sliding them back so that they’ll obscure anyone else’s view of you using the scalpel on yourself. 

You sit on the bed and although the scalpel almost slips out of your hand because of the blood from your palms, you manage to keep held in your tight fist, holding it like you would a pencil; tucked under the base of your thumb, and going through the gap between your index and middle finger. 

With your hands still trembling and your breath uneven, as well as a bustling mind that only grew louder as the scalpel in your hand grew closer to the skin of your forearm, you made the first incision. Almost immediately, your mind quieted, and your headache dimmed. 

Quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of a clear head, you lift the scalpel from your skin, not waiting to watch the blood bubble up from your open wound like you usually would, instead opting to make another incision right next to it.

Being a medic, there was nothing you could really do to stop yourself from thinking about how deep each incision was, and how deep you were cutting into your flesh—so while you cut yourself, a train of thought begun. 

Half an inch deep, You push the scalpel deeper, Now a full inch. Should take a month or two to fully heal. Wouldn’t scar. 

The thought of it not scarring should make you happy, or at least, neutral, but instead the thought makes you frown. Some odd hunger that comes from the indefinite pit in your stomach craves evidence for the malice you’ve shown towards your own skin, something that would prove your self-hatred. 

So, you go another half inch deeper. Scarring would be possible, but not as high of a chance as if you went another half inch. With that thought, you go the last half inch. There we go. 

You slide the scalpel blade through your flesh, the blade cutting through it like it would a firm fruit like a pear. It’s easier to cut through skin when the skin is pulled taut, You think, If only I had an extra hand.

You pull out the blade and repeat. You feel less guilty already.

All that worry about fucking up during your last assignment washes away, like the wave of guilt that overcame you earlier receded and pulled back that worry with it, lowering the tide of shame and self-reproach within you. In fact, the tide lowers so much that it almost completely disappears from your mind—like it never existed in the first place.

Reminds me of a tsunami, You repeat your actions with the scalpel, When the tides get low, so low that the ocean floor shows and you could walk where you’d originally have to swim, it’s because a tsunami is building up.

You look down at your work. Your forearm is a bloody mess, crimson red dripping down to your fingers and threatening to drop onto the stark white sheets of the bed you’re sitting on. You sigh tiredly and get up from the bed, putting the end of the scalpel’s handle into your mouth—ignoring the voice in the back of your head that reprimands you for not thinking about bacteria or contamination—and biting down to hold it whilst you slide the curtains in front of the bed to the side, walking out of the small resting area. 

You grab the scalpel and set it onto the metal medical cart by your desk, grabbing the gauze on that same cart, opening the small box it’s kept in with your non-bloody hand. It’s a struggle, but you manage it open, and you shake the roll of gauze out onto the cart. 

In the middle of you attempting to pull the end of the gauze off of the roll so that you could begin to wrap it around the red lines decorating your forearm, you hear loud footsteps walking near the medbay. You freeze in place, the gauze roll in one hand, your eyes burning holes through the door with how intensely you stare at it. 

There’s a knock. Then another. 

The door handle twists. 

You stare at the door, and everything feels like it’s in slow motion for a second. 

The door opens. 

“Hey, dae ye hae any—” Soap walks in, the sergeant taking one look at you before cutting himself off with a confused and immediately worried, “Holy shit, whit happened tae yer arm? Are ye alright?” 

He rushes over to you and takes your bleeding forearm into his hand. You almost immediately rip it away from his grip. 

“Nothing! Everything’s fine! Just an accident,” You lie, holding the blood-covered forearm close to your chest, “I was just about to clean it up.” 

“Dae ye need help wrappin’ it, an cleanin’ it up, or anything?” Soap asks, eyebrows furrowed and his expression beyond worried. 

“Nope,” You insist, “It’s fine. All good here.” 

“... Ye sure?” 

“Uh huh,” You nod your head, “All good. Don’t worry about it.” 

“‘kay then,” Soap tilts his head and crosses his arms, “Whit happened?” 

“Just a little accident with some of the equipment,” You nod down to the bloody scalpel on the medical cart, “That’s all.” 

It must be obvious you’re lying, because Soap sighs and says, “I think we baith ken that that’s a lie.” 

You stay silent for a few moments, before Soap speaks up again, “Ye ken if ye dinnae tell me, I’ll jist jump tae conclusions, richt?”

You take a deep breath before mumbling something under your breath. When Soap’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, you repeat louder, “I used the scalpel. On myself.” 

“Ye whit?” 

“I used the scalpel on myself,” You look away, and rush out, “and I’m really sorry, I just couldn’t help it, it’s not like— like a normal thing or anything, it’s just this once, I swear, and— and—” 

“[c/n], calm down,” Soap quickly uncrosses his arms and sets both hands onto your shoulders, furrowed eyebrows now taking a more concerned shape, “It’s okay.” 

You take a deep breath and look at him, looking at his nose instead of his eyes because you don’t think you could handle eye contact right now, “I’m really sorry.” 

“Why would ye dae that tae yerself?” Soap asks, voice soft and almost pitying, which makes you want to curl up and die. 

You shrug, not wanting to answer verbally. 

“Dae ye— dae the others ken?” Soap questions. 

“No.” 

“I’m—” Soap looks conflicted for a moment, “I hae an assignment… I’ll get Gaz tae help ye, aye? An’ I’ll check in wi’ ye as soon as possible?” 

You hesitate, but end up nodding in agreement, thankful that Soap offered to get Gaz rather than one of the others. The others seemed so oddly scary right now that you don’t even want to think about how they’d react to this whole situation. It’s all gone by so fast—one moment you were sitting on a hospital bed, the next you’re found out by Soap of all people—you’ve barely had time to think about the others. 

“Okay. Okay, okay,” Soap repeats the word under his breath like a mantra, thinking to himself for a second before sighing and looking down at you again, “Jesus, fuck, okay. I’ll go get him, ye stay here, aye?” 

You nod again, this time your vision begins to get more blurred. 

“Ye’re gonnae be okay, okay?” Soap tries to reassure you. You nod once again, sniffling a little bit, making Soap’s gaze soften.

He takes his hands off of your shoulders and gives you one last sad look before turning around and rushing out of the medbay, his thundering footsteps growing quieter as he gets closer to Gaz’s location—most likely his sleeping quarters. 

You wait a moment and when you hear no footsteps, your gaze goes back to the blade. It’s not like it’ll hurt to do a few more. I’ll stop when the others arrive. 

You grab the handle of the blade, and as quickly as you can, akin to an addict scrambling for substance, you slice through the skin of your non-mutilated hand. You make several quick and deep gashes before dropping the scalpel onto the medical cart again, breathing heavy, the cuts this time actually hurting. It felt like fire was running rampant through your nerves, all stemming from the self-induced wounds, and you winced at the new pain. It wasn’t anything you weren’t used to, but still.

When you hear footsteps again, you can tell they aren’t Soap’s. 

The door clicks open and in walks Gaz, already looking very worried—presumably from what Soap told him about your… situation—with another person in tow. Right behind him, Price walks in, expression neutral so far. 

Gaz looks over at you, his eyes widening as he sees the bloody gashes in your forearms. Without a second thought, he rushes over to you, his hand reaching for your forearm. Before you can stop him, he grabs your bloody forearm and pulls it up a bit so that he can look at it closer. You flinch, and Price quickly walks over to you two before Gaz can even utter a single word. 

“Let’s not, okay?” Price’s version of ‘knock it off’, “I’m here, I’ll take care of their… thing. You hand me what I tell you to. Understood?” 

“Yup— Yes, sir. Captain,” Gaz corrects himself quickly, making a slip-up that in any other situation would’ve made you at least chuckle, but all you can do now is stare at the pair as you hold your bloody arms to your chest. 

Price looks back over to you and nods over to one of the many empty curtain-surrounded beds and says, “Go sit over there and wait for a few seconds.” 

You nod, not knowing what else to do or say, and immediately walk over there. It’s the room furthermost to the right, the one that’s also the closest to the door and the one you’d coincidentally gone into to cut yourself. 

You slide the curtains to the side and sit down on the white bed, and just a few seconds later, just as Price said, he walked in as well. He sat next to you, Gaz in tow, the latter carrying a jar of cotton pads and balls as well as a bottle of Betadine.

Betadine—or iodopovidone, whichever name you preferred—was a sort of antiseptic that was generally used for cleaning cuts and wounds. Maybe not ones as deep as yours, but it would still work just as well. 

Despite it not being alcohol-based, or really having any alcohol in it, it still hurts the same as rubbing alcohol would, which you were… definitely not looking forward to.

“Sergeant,” Price takes the jar and bottle of Betadine from Gaz, “Go and grab the skin stapler for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” Gaz nods, walking out of the room once again. Price sets the jar and bottle of Betadine onto the bed beside himself after he leaves.

With you and Price now in the room alone, he turns to you and holds out his hand with his palm faced up for your arm silently. You carefully put your forearm onto his hand, watching as he gently pulls it closer to him, looking a bit closer at it before sighing through his nose and using his free hand to open the jar of cotton pads. 

“How did this happen?” He asks, breaking the silence. 

“Soap didn’t fill you in?”

“No.”

You think about what to tell him for a moment. What’s too straightforward? What’s too vague? How do I not overstep? How do I not sound like I just want attention? 

Eventually, you settle on, “I was— … I saw the uh… scalpel, and I just… decided to use it a little bit. On myself.” Definitely not the best you can do, but what else could you say? ‘Oh, I cut myself with a scalpel because I felt guilty and if I didn’t I probably would’ve had a panic attack or a mental breakdown’?

“…” Price pauses for a moment, eyes twitching for a split second before he continues his movements to grab a cotton pad and questions you, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“You know what I’m asking, [c/n].” 

He’s asking why you did it. There’s not one simple answer you could give him—sure, you could tell him that you felt guilty and it was a bad habit that you’ve told yourself you could stop but never tried to, but that wouldn’t be the whole truth.

You can’t fully express or dictate why you do it, you just do. It’s like when you cut slits into bread before baking it. Without those slits, the bread would crack and split at the seams on its own, but with them, the splitting and expanding of the dough is controlled. 

Except, with you, it’s like you’re cutting yourself before the tension building inside of you makes you burst at the seams. Taking a blade to your skin has given you a sense of control—maybe that’s why it’s so addicting, You think, it’s the only way I’ve been able to control my feelings. 

But you can’t just say all of that. Well, you could, but did you want to? Fuck no. 

Instead, you opt for shrugging, which doesn’t satisfy Price one bit. 

“I could see you thinking about it,” He sighs, “I know you at least have some sort of real answer.” 

Well, fuck. “It’s a long answer.” 

“I never said it couldn’t be.”

He doesn’t move to grab the Betadine at all, instead waiting for you to talk. 

You purse your lips and think for another moment before finally talking again, “I was feeling really guilty and tense, and I guess it just got too much, so I just kind of… had to. Like I felt like I was gonna fuckin’… I dunno, have a nervous breakdown or something. And honestly, it’s a really stupid reason, because the thing that I’m feeling guilty about happened like a week ago, but still—I’ve been feeling really guilty about it. It—It’s not like I can’t stop, if I tried I could, I swe—swear, and I just— it’s been really easy to just— you know? I— honestly, it’s not that big of a deal—” 

“Hey, hey—” Price brings a hand to your shoulder and softens his voice, “It’s okay. I understand.” 

“I ju—st… I’m sorry, I—” 

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Price reassures you, quickly bringing that same hand up to cup your jaw, “You’re okay. You don’t have to say sorry.” 

“But I—” 

“Shh.” You hadn’t even noticed how frantic your breathing had gotten during your small word vomit. And to just make things worse, there’d been tears gathering at your water line, well on their way to spilling over and creating tear tracks down your cheeks. 

You can’t help but let go of all the tension in your shoulders the moment Price starts gently rubbing his thumb back and forth over your cheek. The moment he does that, it’s practically game over for you. 

Those tears spill out from the corners of your eyes and you can already feel your next breath get caught in your throat, leaving you to just let Price gently guide your head to lean forwards against his chest, letting out small hiccups and trying desperately to hold back the sobs you want to let out.

It all happened so fast, you don’t even know how you got here. One moment you were doing a good job of somewhat keeping your guard up, the next your resolve was crumbled completely by the gentle and oddly caring touch of Price’s hand.

Suddenly, there’s a knock at the door, then someone walks in while you’re burying your head further into Price’s chest—Ghost. You can tell it’s him by the way he walks. He has long strides, he never drags his feet, and the moment he slides the curtains to the side to see you, his footsteps stop. They start up again a moment later, and he sits by your side, opposite of where Price is sitting—to your right instead of your left. 

Gaz must’ve let him in while he was looking for the stapler, You think, sniffling against Price’s chest. Normally, you would’ve felt some sort of shame by now, but given the current situation, you didn’t find much room to give a shit. 

You feel Price’s head move up slightly, and judging by the way he occasionally nods and sometimes moves his hands a bit, you can only assume that he’s having some sort of nonverbal conversation with Ghost right now. This conversation goes on for about a few minutes longer before you’ve managed to control your breathing a bit more. 

Price can tell, and he asks just for confirmation, ���Is it alright if I clean your cuts now?” 

You nod and sniffle once before taking your head off of Price’s chest, looking down at your lap, simply holding out one of your blood-crusted arms to him. You can see Ghost stiffen up behind you almost immediately at the sight of it. 

Price grabs a cotton pad from the jar he was handed earlier, as well as the bottle of iodopovidone, and soaks the cotton pad with said iodopovidone. Once it’s soaked with the antiseptic solution, he hesitates before pressing it to your bloody arms. 

Almost immediately, you inhale a sharp breath and feel tears stinging your eyes again. 

“It’s okay,” Price tries to calm you down, seeing the tears forming in your eyes again, “You’re okay.” 

You sniffle and shift on the bed, trying to blink away tears that threaten to spill over your water line. Ghost, sitting by your side, puts a gloved hand over your shoulder, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your shoulder. His eyes twitch as you bite the inside of your cheek to muffle another sob while Price presses another Betadine-infused cotton pad to your self-induced wounds, and although you can barely see him, out of the corner of your eye, you still catch the glint of new tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as he watches you. 

Gaz slips back through the curtains in front of the bed, this time with Soap in tow, and hands a skin stapler to Price. Seeing the skin stapler, something you used fairly often—often enough that the others knew how it worked and how to use it—automatically made your stomach turn.

“Told ye I’d come back for ye,” Soap murmurs, kneeling down to get about eye-level with you. You huff out the smallest laugh at his words and he gives you a small smile that makes you want to go lock yourself in a room with a scalpel and repeat what you’d done earlier all over again, his empathetic expression paining you more than taking a blade to your arm.

As a matter of fact, the expressions that you wish were pity coming from everyone around you hurts more than anything you could’ve ever done to yourself. Their concern was so unexpected—not that you don’t think they care, but you never thought they cared this much. You didn’t think that, if caught in the act, you would receive empathetic looks and solemn smiles, rather thinking that you would receive reprimanding. That you’d be punished for punishing yourself. 

Price thanks Gaz silently with the curt nod of his head before turning back to you with a solemn expression that in all honesty makes you more guilty and disappointed with yourself than before. He holds the skin stapler like he would a hot glue gun, looking down at the open wounds in front of him, and holds your forearm closer to him so he can see the edges of the cuts better. 

"Keep your arm like that," He murmurs, to which you respond with a nod and stiffening your arm so that it stays in the air where Price positioned it. He uses his now free hand to gently pull the edges of the cut you'd made closer together, aligning them the best he can before pressing the metal staple dispenser to the cut and pushing down on the trigger, stapling the two edges together with a click. 

He holds it down for an extra second before releasing and pulling the stapler away from your skin, and although the process only took around three seconds, you'd never get used to the feeling of getting your skin stapled. You make a small, pained noise that has Soap wincing as well--as though he can feel it too--and Price looking more solemn than earlier. 

“Finished with this one,” Price mutters as you swallow down another sob, holding his calloused-but-soft hand out for you to put your other forearm in. You do just that, nearly breaking into a fit of new sobs at the small ‘thank you’ Price utters. 

You watch Price soak another cotton pad with iodopovidone with his free hand and suck in a deep breath as he presses it to your forearm, the originally white cotton pad almost immediately going red. Tears spill over your waterline and roll down your cheeks as he continues to clean and disinfect your wounds, and before you can move your free hand to wipe them away, Ghost does so for you, his rough gloved hand swiping below your eyes quickly. 

You mumble a small 'thank you' that's barely even audible, sniffling as you can’t help but lean forward the tiniest bit into Ghost’s hand as it lingers on your cheek. He pauses, keeping it there for a second, before bringing that same hand up to the crown of your head and pushing gently on it to urge you to lean your head back. You do so, the back of your head quickly making contact with his Adam’s apple and the top of your head becoming tucked underneath his chin. 

His hand goes back down to your shoulder and continues its ministrations of rubbing small circles into said shoulder, bringing you intermittent moments of comfort throughout the painful wound cleaning you had to endure. 

Soap keeps a comforting hand on your knee as he’s kneeled down in front of you, his thumb occasionally copying Ghost’s, but otherwise remaining still on your knee, careful not to force you through too many different sensations at once. 

Gaz watches you from by the curtain, seeming not to do and looking completely lost. He stands there for another moment, watching the others, seeing what they’re doing for a second, before giving Ghost a ‘one moment’ signal by holding up his index finger and stepping out of the curtain-surrounded area.

Right after he does, another painful sting shoots up your nerves from your forearm, and you make the mistake of looking down at it. 

Wounds that only fifteen minutes ago had brought you to a calmer state of mind and were nothing more than incisions made by the scalpel you’d used to cut other people for entirely different reasons now almost hurt to look at. Once you could’ve compared them to marks left by wild animals, and you could’ve described them as though they were trophies, but now, as you stare down at them being cleaned by your own captain, they look nothing like the sort. 

They don’t look like any of the pretty descriptions you’d given them. They don’t look like cat scratches you’d gotten in an accident, or like something you would get out of a fight with a bear—they don’t make you look strong and brave like you thought they did. 

They look like tally marks. Sanguineous, gruesome tally marks, made by you, like you’d been counting down the days—or seconds, minutes, hours—until you’d had enough. Until you’d had enough of just carving your skin with medical equipment, and needed something more. Craved something more. 

Price must notice you staring down at the wounds, because he pauses in his movements to clean them for a moment, the sudden stopping of the stinging sensation the iodopovidone-soaked cotton making you shiver. You look up at him, and see him already looking down at you, concerned. 

“You’re thinking about something,” He points out softly, “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.” 

You hesitate and look back down at your arm that Price had stopped cleaning, before mumbling, “Just thinking about how these are gonna scar.” It’s not entirely a lie, but not entirely the truth either. 

Price tilts his head to the side a bit, questioningly, “Do you know how they’re gonna scar?” 

“Well, when you work in the medical field for a bit, it gets easier to tell.”

You can tell he wants to ask how they’re gonna scar, so you decide to just say, “They’re all about one-and-a-half to two inches deep, so they’ll heal fully and then scar in a few months. Once they do, they’ll be visible, but not too prominent. The scarring tissue will stick above the skin a little bit, and it’ll make it look a little bit puffy.” 

“Alright,” Price hums, tone neutral, “So they’ll be… visible.” 

He sounds disgusted, A voice in the forefront of your mind insists, while one from the back of your mind tries to tell you, You have no way of knowing that, just see where the conversation goes. He has no reason to be disgusted with you.

“Yeah.” 

“Okay then,” Price sets the cotton pad down and grabs the skin stapler he’d been using earlier, “And it’ll take a few months to heal, you said?” 

“Several months, yeah.” Price considers this for a moment, pausing in his movements to hold the stapler to your skin. 

“Do you think you’ll need any help re-wrapping the bandages while they heal?” He inquires, resuming his movements after asking the question. 

“…” You think for a moment, Will you?, and after a few seconds, hesitantly, you reply, “… Yeah.” 

“M’kay,” Price hums softly, neutrally. “And would you want me to be the one who does it?” 

You think for another few minutes. Preferably, you’d be doing them yourself, but you didn’t trust yourself enough for that—so getting one of them to do it for you is your next best option. You wouldn’t mind if it was Price doing it, but at the same time, you wouldn’t mind if Ghost, Gaz, or Soap did it either. 

“It doesn’t matter,” You settle on, before tacking on, “As long as it’s one of you four.” 

“Us ‘four’ being… ?” 

“You, Soap, Ghost, and Gaz.” 

“Got it,” Price nods. You see Soap smile softly out of the corner of your eye before he quickly stops, trying to purse his lips into a line. He’s probably thinking that he shouldn’t be happy about that, You think, almost amused. You feel Ghost’s thumb stutter on your shoulder as well, before it starts back up normally. 

Your words affect them more than you thought they would. 

Breaking your train of thought, Price staples your skin with a muted click, making you wince. 

It’s silent for a few more moments before Gaz finally comes back, now out of breath and carrying a bar of chocolate. He hands you the chocolate bar and says, panting, “I almost had to spar someone for that. Why do you have to like the chocolate one of the other fuckin’ Lieutenants do?” 

You take the chocolate bar with your free hand gingerly and blink at it for a few moments before setting it down next to you. 

“Nobody told you to get it,” You shrug, before tacking on, “Thank you, though.” 

“Uh-huh, yeah, totally, hey so uh—” He looks at Soap and jabs his thumb towards where the door would be behind the curtains, “We’re both needed somewhere else. Again. They said they forgot something… again.” 

“Worst fucking timing ever,” Soap grumbles, before clearing his throat and standing up, looking down at you, “Right, I’ll check in on ye later, and help ye wi’ anything ye need me tae, aye? I’ll come wi’ mair chocolate than Gaz did, ‘cause I’m better than him.” 

“Got it,” You smile up at him, making him grin back and pat you on the shoulder Ghost’s hand isn’t occupying, before heading out with Gaz. 

Then, you’re left with Ghost and Price. 

“I should get going too,” Ghost mutters, slowly taking his hand off of your shoulder and gently pushing your head back off of his chest, almost regrettably. 

“M’kay,” You watch as he gets up and hesitates, looking like he’s about to give you a hug, before he decides to instead give you a simple head nod and head out the same way the two other operators did. 

And then, it was just you and Price.

It’s silent for a bit, until Price speaks up.

“You think a lot,” Price comments, finishing up the last staple. 

“Does that surprise you?” 

“A little bit, yeah.” 

You pause for a moment before sighing through your nose, “It’s nothing. Just the same stuff I was thinking about before.” 

“Wanna give me some more detail than that?” 

“Not really, no,” You admit, letting your hand fall into your lap as Price lets go of it, “But I have a feeling you’re gonna want me to tell you.” 

“I do.” 

“It’s just something stupid, like earlier—” 

“That wasn’t stupid, [c/n], that was you hurting.” 

“I— I know. It’s just that this is actually stupid.” 

“Well, tell me what it is, and I’ll be the judge of that.” 

You think about how to phrase it in simple terms for a moment, before finally speaking, “I used to think that the scars sort of… symbolized how I was able to control myself and my emotions, and that made me feel…” You can’t think of any synonyms to make the simple words you want to say sound less childish, so you’re forced to say, “… brave. And strong. I just— I thought it showed that I was good at controlling my emotions and stuff, for some reason. But now I’m questioning all of that.” 

“You’re very brave,” Price reassures you, and God, it sounds like he’s reassuring a child, “And you’re so strong. But this… this isn’t how you show that. This—cutting yourself—doesn’t make you either of those things. It doesn’t show that you’re either of those things. It shows that you need help.” 

“But you just said that I was strong.” 

“I did.” 

“… Aren’t you contradicting yourself?”

“How would I be contradicting myself?” Price asks. 

“You said that me— me… harming myself shows that I need help.” 

“It does,” Price hums, and at your confused expression, he continues, “You needing help doesn’t mean you aren’t strong. Needing help and being strong aren’t connected like that.” 

You open your mouth to argue but you close it, not knowing what to say. Price sees this and smiles knowingly, simply grabbing your hand to squeeze it once before getting up. 

“I’ll check in on you later, okay? I need to get some stuff done, but as soon as I can, I’ll be back to keep you company. Or I’ll send someone else over—whichever you prefer.” 

“M’kay,” You mumble, squeezing Price’s hand back before letting go. “You can do whatever. I don’t mind either one.” 

“Sounds good.” Price pauses for a moment before leaning down and giving you a quick hug, and then beginning to slip past the curtains blocking any outsider's view of the bed you were sat on.

Before he can leave, you quickly say, "Thank you. For the wound-cleaning-thing."

He pauses at the curtain for a second, before smiling and replying, "You're welcome."

for those curious, the bthb card so far:

[mirensiart]

I love your pain sharing AU as much as the next guy (it's a lot, I love it a lot), but do you have any other projects you're working on you want an excuse to talk about? Doesn't even have to be Zelda

aah you’re so sweet 🥹💖 I do have a few original characters that I need to draw more of…..I’m gonna use your ask as a way to show them off a little bit hehe

I haven’t done a lot of world building, but the main characters are a knight named lady ira, an apothecary lady named flora (they’re in lesbians with each other), the bastard prince of the kingdom named ancel and once thief and outlaw but now reformed boy named lowen

✨ THE PLOT ✨

ancel is the youngest prince of the kingdom and also a bastard, the only reason why the king keeps him around is because ancel is the only one of the royal kids who’s adept at magic! this means the royal kids, the queen’s children, really despise him and constantly try to get rid of him (kidnapping/assassins)

Thanks to this, he is often assigned a body guard (babysitter) as a way to protect him of his half siblings and also cause ancel is a menace when it comes to magic and can’t really control it very well, so the guard is also to protect the general public from him lmao

Lady Ira used to be a high ranking knight until she fucked up and was demoted and assigned as ancel’s bodyguard, which she resents as first since she feels her talents are being wasted looking after the king’s bastard

She gets attached cause obviously lmao imagine the “old grumpy man gets attached and adopts a little girl” trope but it’s a lesbian and a little boy lmao

Lady Ira eventually meets Flora thanks to shenanigans involving ancel being poisoned, flora being an apothecary is able to save the boy’s life

Lady ira notices that flora has an X scar on her mouth, turns out flora is cursed! The scar prevents her from speaking, if she speaks the X scar opens up as a wound causing her unbearable pain, it closes back when she keeps silent (clearly someone didn’t want her to speak hehe)

Lady ira offers to help her find a cure for her curse as a way to thank her for saving ancel

So flora + lady ira go on a journey to find someone who can counter the curse, lady ira leaves ancel under the care of one of her trusted knight besties, but the kid is like chaos incarnate and escapes to join up with them since he also wants to help flora out

Lowen gets dragged into all of this, since like, he used to be a thief and a wanted man until lady ira pleaded for him and got him a job in the royal stables, lowen feels indebted to her and also thanks to this job, he found a best friend in ancel

Those two are like, the most chaotic duo ever since lowen enables ancel’s weird antics lmao anyway, ancel grabs his bestie to join in the ✨adventure✨and lowen agrees cause if it means helping lady ira he’s in

So yeah, it’s basically two lesbians and their weird chaotic kids find out flora’s curse is important and pivotal to a conspiracy going on in the kingdom

I do like the doomed yuri trope, so yeah it’s doomed yuri lol ANYWAY have art of the sad lesbians

and here they’re happy but not for long…!

[radio-fmm]

The bird’s call

Zoro x bird!reader

Warnings: fem reader, yes reader turns into a bird, pure fluff idiots in love and confessions

Word count: 2.2k

Summary: In which it finally dawns on Zoro that he loves you, whatever he shall do?

Notes: yes this is the same reader from my other writings that can turn into a bird can be read as a stand alone but recommend this one!

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃

“You’re sloppy” The swordsman blurted as he adjusted your position harshly, you rolled your eyes at the comment

“I am an archer I had never touched a sword in my life”

You were a mighty warrior, although a lot of people failed to see it, you were glad the ones that count did, between them happened to be Luffy who offered you a place in his crew, and surprisingly Zoro, having this unspoken respect and admiration

“If you can hit a far away target, you can draw a sword”

You both shared an amazing bond when it came to battle. When he was strong, aggressive and always acting on instinct, you were precise, agile and light on your feet. Together you were unstoppable, you were the hand that wilded Zoro’s sharp sword, as he would hit recklessly, you’ll guide it and made sure to hit targets that may approach at the long run. The chemistry you both exuded was something never seen before, it made battle feel like a vigorous dance, a fun sport.

Training together on the other hand… was tough, at least for you. The swordsman had practically begged for you to start sword training, you were hesitant as how good of a teacher he would be, and oh god he worked you to the bone, always stumbling back to your room muscles aching and ego deflated. Your styles as good as they worked together, they were completely opposites.

“First position” the green haired man ordered which made you move back immediately, losing your balance as you adjusted to the awkward stance

“Wrong again” He said as he kicked your leg slightly which made it shake “You’re a warrior, look the part”

You let out a loud sarcastic scoff “It would be easier if you stopped being so mean”

“I’d be nicer if you listened”

You had spend half your life burning yourself out to be seen, to make people notice you were capable, always working twice as hard as everyone else in your stupid island so they would even let you grasp a weapon.

To be a warrior and to be a woman, didn’t go hand in hand

That’s why you didn’t hesitate to join Luffys crew, you knew he valued your place but most importantly it didn’t matter who you were or how you looked. It was the perfect path for you to leave your island behind and finally allow yourself for grow at your own pace. Having Zoro hovering over you and correcting every move and breath wasn’t appealing, it reminded you to all those times you spend swallowing the disrespect from others, of course you knew your crew-mate was doing this in good heart, it almost felt like a favor, but it troubled you non the less

“This is stupid” you whispered between pants as you catch your breath

You knew if you kept going at this, it would eventually end on you harvesting a hatred for Zoro, which funnily enough it had happened before and it wasn’t quite nice, but maybe it was better than being blinded by the love you had for him and only him

“It is only if you allow it to be” he weirdly tries inviting you to continue as he fixes your stance, one hand steady yet soft on your arms other in your hip, you can feel the scars on them but it doesn’t bother you, it feels weirdly familiar. You glance at him as your heart jumps around threatening to escape at any given moment

What Zoro would never admit, not even to himself, is that this was the reason he wanted to train you. He did not care even a little that you didn’t knew anything about swords, or that your stances were always wrong.

This were the only moments he’d allow himself to indulge in the best pleasures life could offer, you

Zoro was not only strong in body but also in mind, always disciplined and forever only focus in achieving his dream, until you appeared. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just be without you, he would catch himself staring, looking for you, attentive and basking in you, confused on why even tough his heart would pump crazily, felt unarmed and nervous, he had to be near you in any way possible

You were intoxicating as sake, addicted to every part of you, eager to know and trace all edges of your soul. A walking contradiction you were for him, the sword he pointed directly to his heart, finding himself dreaming, seeking and yearning for you

But he kept everything close to his heart, at least until he understood, until he could control it

Impossible, not even the greatest swordsman in the wide world could tame love

Zoro holds your stare as you study his features, even though he could feel every inch of him shaking, he could not look away. He drowns in your sent as his eyes travel to your lips wondering how soft would they be?

It had been long ago that you had come to terms with the torturous feelings you had for the swordsman, but you promised yourself to never instigate.

It would only bring you trouble because obviously he would never reciprocate, right? There was no space for you in his mind or heart, you were a distraction, just his crew-mate, a friend at most

Sure you wore your heart on your sleeve and it was painfully obvious how head over heels you were for that man, but you thanked whatever force in the universe had made him so oblivious. If only you knew he was too busy figuring you out to notice…

So you held yourself back even if everything in you screamed that you closed the tiny gap between you both and kissed, for your own sake

You take a step back, or you try before Zoro’s grip on your waist tightness afraid you’ll fly away, not wanting the moment to fade. Your eyes widen but before you can question him he clears his throat and lets go, hands running towards the grip of the sword

“Just uh… hold it up like this” he directs you red splattered all over his cheeks eyes adverting from yours

It finally dawns on him, he doesn’t just like you, he loves you, like romantically. Having you that close had left him wanting more, as vulnerable he had felt, he was obsessed with the feeling of your bodies at such proximity, the intimacy of your eyes meeting while rose tinted your faces, the revolution on his heart that you had started only by glancing at him. Maybe he despised the power you held, but at the same time he was glad it was you, you the kindest sweetest yet strongest person he had the honor of meeting, the perfect match, most suitable to hold his heart, to own him.

But what was he to do now?

Time slipped through his fingers as he drowned in questions and feelings, ending in just a back and fort of brushes, gazes and long talks that both of you enjoyed of course, but the unspoken feelings that hanged in the air left you both breathless and awake at night.

“Just tell her Zoro is not that hard” As his last resort, Zoro found himself seeking advice for Nami, but he started to regret his decision

“Easy for you to say”

The navigator rolled her eyes, this whole situation had her, no scratch that, everyone on the ship amused and annoyed. How could both of you be so blind to notice how far you had fallen for one another

“Ugh c’mon, you’re practically always together and if not you’re staring back at each other! You’re both ridiculous” the statement took Zoro aback, red creeping from his neck as he bickered back at Nami

“Thought you would’ve notice by now” she giggled still amused by his lack of expertise “All you gotta do is go and talk to her and be honest”

Zoro’s eyes wondered to where your laugh sprung, Luffy and Usopp were throwing grapes as far as they could for you to catch up in the air morphed into your bird form, sometimes indulging them in some flying tricks as you fly back down. As much as it pained him Nami was right, there was no way around it, for him to bottle up everything he felt would end up in nothing good and he would rather die of embarrassment than to hurt you. Still the thought of you liking someone as devilish as him haunted the swordsman, he had to trust the navigators words for this one which wasn’t ideal but at least he felt reassured.

Nami read the panic that settled on her friend’s features, which was comical to her considering how painfully obvious you were

“She likes you man, I promise, and I don’t go throwing that word around” the woman squished his shoulder as the last drop of motivation she could offer before leaving

Another laugh escaped your mouth that had Zoro fawning all over the deck. You were so lively, kind and driven, but also strong, how could you ever give your time of day to a man that spent his days doing nothing but working, sweating and drinking. Zoro was a man that had walked through this world with an iron will, while you also had to step your ground, you managed to remain soft and sweet which was deemed impossible to the swordsman but still, you were the living proof that there was a way to own the softness in your strength which always impressed him.

That evening as you finished your personal training which consisted of the longest cardio session Zoro had ever witnessed someone do, some yoga and target practice, he silently waited, sun sharing its last drops of sunlight as it disappeared behind the ocean

“Hey~” Zoro spoke as he saw you walking back to your quarters, which made you jump and thug at the dagger wrapped around your thigh, when your eyes met his, you let out the a breath as he snickered at your reaction

“Don’t do that again” a smiled formed in your lips as you heard Zoro’s laugh, it was a sound that you rarely got to listen but so loved to

“So jumpy” he joked before turning to the sea leaning his strong figure on the railing, you followed beside him, gaze fixed in the watercolors that painted the scenery. Usually whenever you and Zoro shared silence it was comfortable and inviting, but today you could sense tension and doubtfulness hanging around the green haired man, nevertheless you don’t break it

A shaky heavy hand travels from the railing to yours which makes you flinch, you turn to him, to find his grey eyes dissecting you completely, again, you don’t say anything you stay still as to not scare him away. His breath becomes uneven, all the words he had rehearsed washed away at your touch, melting in each other instantly

“Zoro?” You finally whisper after a long staring contest between you two, his face turns back at the ocean making his earrings chime together, your face looks for his once again, a hand holding his cheek coaxing him to speak up

The light kisses you just right, you look angelic in his eyes, hair falling perfectly framing your face and your skin soft like a pillow, how could he word any thought about you that has crossed his mind without tripping? He slowly removes the hand that rest on his cheek and with all the courage he could gather he kisses it, eyes closing drinking all of you he could take

You are the one at lost of breath now, heart drumming strong in both of your chests

“Be mine” as blunt and more of an statement than a question as it sounded, it was the first thing that he had found himself thinking of you since meeting, a giggle makes its way trough his ears as his eyes widen thinking you were making fun of him, before even registering anything else you pull yourself closer, noses lightly touching

“Please…” a whisper could be described as something louder compared on the way he plead for you, it melted you completely to see the strong stoic swordsman like this, guard down and honest

“I’ve always been yours”

You listen to your heart for once and kiss him, softly and tender just like he imagined. You held his neck to keep you closer as he finally realized whats happening and welcomes you instantly, holding your waist capturing you under his big figure. Nothing exists anymore, just you and him under the sunset lulled by the so familiar waves of the ocean that seemed to have softened just for the tow of you.

You let go as much as you could, not being able to step back as he held you strongly, catching both of your breaths as they mixed together

“Good, would’ve been awkward if you didn’t say yes” you roll your eyes and smile ear to ear as he follows your head to rest his forehead on yours

“I love you, Zoro”

᠃ 𖡼᠂ 𖥧⚘ 𓅪 ⚘𖥧᠂ 𖡼᠃

I love them sm *holds them close* I’ll be writing more about these two. Feel free to request and correct me, english is not my first language

[am-i-interrupting]

Hear me out. I probably sound a lil goofy. BUT!

Alastor X Imp!Reader

Maybe alastor just likes their personality or maybe he ended up getting attached to the little thing for following him and being up to their no good impish behavior. Maybe he met the imp when he first got to hell and grew fond of them. However it happened, all we know is Alastor loves the little Imp just as much as the imp loves him. No one knows about it besides Alastor and the people of the hotel (and MAYBE a few people the imp couldn’t stop themselves from telling but how can they help it? They have a big yap box) But the people who do know find it rather shocking and confusing

Do it however you want, if you even want to do the request, i just want Alastor X and Imp reader.

Thank youuu! Mwah!

You met Alastor purely by accident. You were actually supposed to be stealing some supplies from Voxtech when you met.

He found you extremely interesting immediately. What was a little imp doing at a Voxtech warehouse? He knew why he was there, to cause chaos but you?

In the end you stole several prototypes, sold them to a rival company and Alastor destroyed the building and everything inside.

From then on you’d randomly find Alastor in your life. You would happen to see him in walks. He’d randomly save you in fight. What you didn’t know was he used his little shadows to spy on you just to see what you were doing.

It was never a spectacle which was odd for the demon but it was something. Eventually he invited you over for dinner.

It didn’t take long for things to develop from there.

He did not like you leaving the Pride ring. He couldn’t go with you. He couldn’t protect you if something went wrong. He had shadows that could keep eyes on you and tell him if you were in danger but they couldn’t extend past the Pride ring just like he couldn’t.

He didn’t get reports about everything you did. He didn’t know exactly what you were doing and he frankly didn’t care. He just wanted to know you were safe.

Alastor was not a touchy person or rather, did not like being touched but he constantly found himself twirling your tail. He actually found it rather cute when you curled it around him.

He would also run his hands along the ridges in your horns.

If you had any scars, he’d find it absolutely fascinating that they were white and if you’d permit him he’d do experiments to figure out to what severity a scar had to be in order to be replaced with white flesh.

The first person you hit introduced to was Niffty but that was purely because you happened to be there while she was cleaning.

Alastor, of course, knew she was there but simply didn’t bother to send you away because he was rather content with the conversations you were having.

You were confused when a one eyed woman ran up Alastor’s body and started demanding to know everything about you when you didn’t even know she was there.

Meeting Rosie was a special occasion. You were dressed in what Alastor deemed to be your best. He actually seemed as nervous as the radio demon got about introducing you. He really wanted the two of you to like each other.

Of course, the worrying was all for not because Rosie immediately welcomed you. She would ask if she could try some of your meat should you agree to Alastor’s experiments. Best not let it go to waste!

You met Husk when Alastor wanted to go out with you but didn’t want to draw attention.

His solution to this would be to send you in to the bar Husk was known to frequent the most and come in later under the guise of seeing his contracted soul only to be distracted by the fine company of the lovely imp who happened to be nearby.

Husk saw through the bullshit immediately but waited until you left and followed you out. He asked you if you knew what you had gotten yourself into but aside from that he didn’t pester.

Mimzy was. . . confused. Mimzy was the most confused. She asked Alastor in front of you if he was sure you were someone he actually knew and he hadn’t mistaken you for someone else.

Alastor assured her through gritted teeth he was very sure.

You met the hotel when Alastor invited you over casually to help him cook.

Charlie is ecstatic to meet you, very happy to meet Alastor’s friend but also is very quick to try to befriend someone else who was born in Hell. You can both share in some occasional confusion about things the sinners say but also befuddle them with shared experiences that come with living in Hell since birth.

Vaggie is very wary. You’re willingly hanging around Alastor? Sure, you seem okay but surely you can’t be if this is your choice of company.

Angel will try to get information on what Alastor’s like in bed.

Sir Pentious will start being wary of you but eventually warm up to you. He will be very careful when he interacts with you because he doesn’t want to offend you in even the smallest way and upset Alastor as a result.

All in all, you’re going to be protected by so many people even if you don’t need it.

And if anyone ever tries to insinuate that you’re too lowly for Alastor or he’s wasting his time with you, they will severely regret it.

[comicsandconstellations]

Have really been in the mood to keep drawing my designs for the “they survived” Domino Squad AU (designs here )

So have my full armour breakdowns for them. I thought I should properly sit down and get those sorted. I think it’s phase two armour? But I’m not great with those differences. Also, first sketches of the squad in colour.

Also, thought I’d give Cutup a hint of a beard since his cannon design had one. I haven’t really been drawing him with one because in my version he’s chilled out a lot in recovery from almost being eaten alive, and he’s grown his hair out. And, clones with long hair and beards are just arguably the hottest clones and I don’t think Fives would ever let him be the hot one of the group.

A few notes on armour designs I didn’t elaborate much on in the notes (and some character traits linked to it) :

Hevy’s armour is pretty basic for an ARC, but he definitely responds to anyone asking why with something about not needing elaborate armour to beat a lot of droids. He has taken on a lot of leadership roles in the company, and Rex has even made several comments about him taking over as Captain if anything was to happen to him.

Fives on the other hand got ARC armour and decided he was going to tick every single design detail he could (including the Eel helmet which probably should have been Cut’s, but he wanted his scar on his so Fives was allowed it.) Unlike the other two ARC’s, he doesn’t get an official role, but he doesn’t mind, it leaves him open to get into more trouble and not be responsible for anyone else.

Echo is still very regulation oriented, but the only known regulation he has publicly broken is modifying his armour to be mirrored so he could keep Rex’s hand print in its original position. The others tease him about this constantly. He is an exceptional strategist and is Rex’s right hand man when it comes to any sort of planning or attack strategy. He’s the most modest of the squad, and constantly talks down his abilities whenever others hype him up about his skills. He’s one of the top strategists in the GAR, but it would be a miracle if you could get him to admit that.

Cutup is ecstatic about the fact he is now covered in scars (although much bigger and less idealised than the designs on his armour) because it matches his name. He has no intention of becoming an ARC. The Rishi outpost and his long recovery changed him a lot, and left more than just physical scars, he prefers to step back from the intensity of what his brothers do, even if he was offered the promotion. He and Kix are very close, and he sometimes works as a support person in the med tent if he needs an extra set of hands.

Droidbait is the opposite. He desperately wants to be an ARC like the other three, but has never been very fit for the position. He is the least confident of the squad, and his time separated from them on Rishi didn’t help. The commemoration bands on his leg are for those who they lost on the Rishi moon, and he won’t tell anyone the significance of there being two. He was the only person who survived the droid attack (after the other four escaped) and refuses to say how he managed to, but whatever happened made him much more anxious. The others don’t pressure him into saying anything.

[laurancezvahlslefteyebrow]

well hello there

here is aphmau in my au/rewrite

i tried to draw her in as many of her iconic outfits as possible but good irene she has a lot [click for better quality]

so here are some changes and headcanons i have for aph in my au:

•she’s neurodivergent. not entirely sure what specifically, probably adhd. for sure dyslexic.

•she has sensory issues, which is why she’s usually in shorts. she feels like she can’t move properly in a dress for pants.

•so in my au she is irene just like regular canon. i gave her her markings but you might notice they’re different; here’s why: so in my au, scars and tattoos can both be used as runes to conduct magicks. scar runes amplify one’s existing magicks while tattoo runes bestow a certain magicks ability to a person (even if they already have one to begin with). though this practice is outdated and illegal in most parts of the world. because irene’s abilities existed prior to her become a divine warrior, she scarred herself to not only enhance said abilities but to also show her true dedication. nowadays no one, except maybe zoey, actually knows what they are or what they’re for exactly.

sorry that was a lot… ANYWAY

•when irene locked herself away, she tried to dress in a way she thought might help her blend in in whatever time she popped back out.

•she was wrong.

•phoenix drop gets really hot, especially in the summer, and it doesn’t snow there. aphmau uses it as an excuse to wear shorts all the time.

•when she first showed up she wasn’t as clueless as they made her seem in rebirth. she was just as aware as she was in the og beginning (except no she didn’t think she was playing minecraft) her reason for helping out the village was basically this: “oh look a village, cool i needed a place to stay. oh man these guys are in rough shape, they don’t have a lord?!? ah geez no one’s helping them, guess i gotta help them. oh shit they made me lord!” ok maybe not EXACTLY like that but yk

•she’s not a pick me in this universe :) and she doesn’t lead people on.

•when garroth first noticed how hard she was working on the village without even being asked, he bought her some gloves so she’d stop tearing up her hands. he bought some basic fingerless leather gloves but payed extra to have them dyed black and embroidered with lil purpley pink flowers. he hopes she’d like them and that his gesture wouldn’t come off as clunky or weird. she loved them and keeps them with her even when they’ve gotten too worn to wear.

•laurmau is endgame. aph and aaron never have any kind of romantic relationship. he’s more of a mentor to her. (i’m sorry garmau lovers i love y’all but laurance is my guy)

ok

so that’s all folks, i’m sure i have more headcanons and changes for aphmau but none come to mind right now. feel free to leave suggestions tho :)

garroth is next >:)

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Okay in response to this post I’m going to “Erm Ackshully 🤓☝️” y’all’s arguments (but really, this is for shits and giggles and I find y’all’s ideas and this conversation so interesting!!!)

(And logically, yes, I know the show wants you to believe that Hunter’s just immediately scarred/has no pain because they likely didn’t want to fit a healing arc into their limited storytelling time. I get it. I do. I’m just making the argument why it would be easy to argue that they are actually open wounds/why I feel like if they were going to do this arc, they should have considered giving a fraction of the proper weight to to the horrifying consequences of such a severe injury.)

Okay so without further ado! We have Hunter pre-Belos. When we look at him, his original scar is on the left side (his right cheek, but I’ll use left for our argument from now on for simplicity’s sake)

Next, we have Belos leaving Hunter’s body. Notice how the big goop scar on the left side overtakes the original left side scar.

In addition, the small scar on the right is shown to be caused by Belos’s goop.

Therefore, I think it’s safe to say from this double evidence that the scar on the right isn’t just an animation error of his original scar being on the wrong side.

Keep this in mind for later!

Next, here’s Hunter after Belos leaves his body. Note the size, color, and shape of his scars here:

“Calaiti,” you might say to my argument, “Flapjack healed him! That’s why his scars aren’t open wounds and/or why they don’t cause him pain!”

OBJECTION! Evidence:

Remember when I said to remember that one photo? Here’s where that comes into play. Hunter’s scars before and after Flap reviving him have been shown several times to be the same size, shape, and color. Absolutely nothing changes!!! They look the same before and after consistently!!!

Also, notice how Flap’s magic only ‘heals’ the left side of his face and neck. The small scar on the right doesn’t light up at all. Then, the left side scars STILL match the ‘unhealed’ wound on the right after Flap dies!!! Shouldn’t there be a visual difference between the healed and unhealed wounds, then?

I’ll admit, this whole section of the episode has a bunch of animation mistakes. See an example below, where the animators forgot the scars on Hunter’s ears during this scene. Therefore, you could use the argument that the animators just forgot to draw the right side lighting up during the revival sequence if you feel so inclined. Sure!!!

BUT to that, I’ll propose this thought: If the animators wanted to show that Flap was actually healing the scars, wouldn’t it be visually more telling to have the scars be darker and/or bigger before Flapjack reviving him, and lighter and/or smaller after, to show there was some kind of resulting change there? Just because they lit up during the revival sequence doesn’t necessarily mean that was Flap healing him. Visually, again, they look exactly the same consistently before and after Flap ‘heals’ them.

~~~

Moving on to the argument of why Hunter doesn’t have any pain after all this, sure, maybe Hunter was running off adrenaline and the pain hits him later. I suppose that’s fair! Doesn’t mean I like it!!! Doesn’t mean I think he shouldn’t have received medical attention even though he said he was okay!!! If we have time for a whole Hexside arc, I think even if he was in shock (which would likely come with a whole host of medical issues which he is not shown to have imo! (Look up ‘burn shock’)), they should have at LEAST insisted on checking him over instead of taking his word that he’s okay!!! He would have been pissed about it lol but idc, show them sitting his ass down and having a healer look at him to show as writers, you’re treating this life-changing injury with the seriousness it deserves.

And if they didn’t feel like doing it before the Belos fight, I would have even accepted them making time to acknowledge the physical and psychological trauma of TTT somewhere else in the last episode. The most we get is Hunter looking sadly at Willow reuniting with her parents before Darius comes along and starts talking to him. It feels like a huge missed opportunity to skip over any negative consequences or closure for Hunter. We just skip to him being healed and happy with no further lines in the show, and that’s a shame to me!

Anyway, thank you for coming to my TED Talk on me defending my goofy headcanon thesis and why I (seriously) think this whole scene should have been handled with a bit more care and consideration to realistic consequences of such an injury.

(This is still my favorite episode though 🤭)

[captain-mj]

Vampire Part 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Content Warning: Implied delusions?? It used to be true but not anymore and that upset Ghost

Soap got to work immediately on Ghost’s new mask. He needed something that would cover the majority of his face while also not bothering his new ears. 

Ghost was lounging on the couch, giant body on display. 

Soap had to bite his lip and look back at the mask that he was working on. Images of those teeth and that mouth around his… 

Anyway. 

His throat hadn’t quite healed. The bruising had faded but there were two holes in his neck that looked like they might scar despite how gentle Ghost had been. His hips had also not healed. They still ached from how hard Ghost had gripped him when he messed up and said the lord’s name. The way Ghost’s nails had sank into him so deep. It had definitely awoken things in him. Now all he could think about was how nice it would be to have those nails holding him down. Sinking into his flesh again. Ghost’s mouth had been cold. Incredibly soft and cold. 

Ghost hummed. “Johnny. How is my mask coming along? I am tired of this.” 

Soap hated this. He didn’t want Ghost to cover his face again. If he could, he’d draw him right now. Take his immense beauty and get it on paper. He wished he could take photos but he knew Ghost, or… Simon… It was such a trip knowing that name, but he would just disappear. Like mirrors, they couldn’t appear in photos. Which was devastating. He wanted so many pictures of them. But he supposed unlike humans, Ghost would never change. He’d always remain the same. No need for something as silly and sentimental as photos. 

“Soap.” Ghost snapped at him. 

“Oh! Sorry, sir. Yeah, it’s coming along.” He held up the mask for him to look at. Like his old one, it had a skull design on it. It would fit more like a medical mask rather than a balaclava but it was the only design Soap could think of that would work. 

Ghost nodded. “I’ll need you to get more bleach. I want to keep my hair blond.”

Soap paused. “I’m sorry. You get your ears. Rip your mask. Get so distraught you don’t eat. But you had time to bleach your hair?”

“Yeah, exactly.” Ghost nodded like that was okay. 

Soap just shook his head, unbelievable. 

“Johnny, I’d like to talk about yesterday.”

“Yes! I’d also like to talk about yesterday.” Johnny turned around to face him. “I have so many questions. Was my blood really that good?” 

Ghost frowned. “I meant you killing someone.” 

Soap got a bit pale. “Thought we were just going to not talk about it.” 

“Who were they?”

“Don’t know. It was on accident. I thought they’d stop at the sunlight not… Not…” 

Ghost nodded. “Good. Senile. If you’re being forced to tell the truth, you can say they ran out into the sun. If there’s any more details, don’t say them. And don’t tell me.” 

Soap nodded. “Understood, sir. Thank you…” 

“Yeah. It’s alright.” He reached over and grabbed his hair, pulling him over. His hand was so big. It made Soap feel very, very small. “And yes. You did taste good.” 

Those intense, dark eyes stared right through him like he was made of glass. Soap should’ve kept his mouth shut. Should’ve just kept it moving. Let the blissful thing that was Ghost’s attention wash over him. 

He did no such thing. Instead, stupidly, he asked a question. 

“What are you going to do about Price?”

Ghost could hardly be described as a fragile person, but Soap watched something snap. His mouth twisted up into a snarl and he tried so hard to seem angry. 

He didn’t though. 

No, Simon just looked heartbreakingly sad. 

“The only reason I don’t tear him limb from limb is because I can’t.”

Soap swallowed. “Is he why you haven’t turned me yet?”

“I just… want to make sure this is something you really, really want. I want it to be special. For you to have a choice.”

Soap nodded and they kept eye contact. It made Ghost speak again. 

“Price was my commander. He talked to me like I was an equal. Discussed plans with me.” 

Soap squeezed his wrist and he felt him tighten the grip in his hair. It started to hurt but he didn’t want to interrupt. 

“I thought he was attractive. The fangs. The way his eyes glowed. I was swayed. An idiot. A stupid fucking human. Walking into the jaws of something I couldn’t understand. I need to make sure that doesn’t happen to you. That when I sink my teeth right here.” He tapped his gloved fingers onto his jugular. “And claim you as mine for eternity. Make myself your sire. That it’s something you’ll never regret.”

Soap wanted him to continue. To keeping talking in that accent that was both ancient and so modern. 

When it was clear that Ghost would not continue, Soap spoke up. “I do. I want this. Want… Want…” You. Want you. He could say it. Nice and easy.

Rodolfo burst through the doors. Ghost released him and he fell. “Rudy. Something wrong.”

“None at all. Just wanted to check on you. Rough few days.” He reached over and ruffled Ghost’s hair. Soap felt green with envy. The way they interacted so easily. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair. Kiss his temples. Feel his cold mouth on his body again. 

Soap looked away. He reached up and grabbed his necklace, toying with it. His old one had been snapped and unusable, so he got a new one. Protection. 

Sometimes, he didn’t want to be protected. But the little cross stayed around his throat all the same. 

Ghost stood up. “I am going outside to the backyard. Tell me if you finish the mask.” He disappeared in a wave of smoke. 

Rudy looked down at Soap, still on the floor and hummed. “Feel better now that you’ve finally been bit?”

“Surprisingly? Yeah, a little.”

“Good. Happy familiar, happy home.” Rudy seemed to have something they wanted to say. His nails, not quite as sharp as Price and Ghost’s but that was due to age and age alone, picked at his pants. He turned abruptly to leave before swiveling back around. 

Soap waited. It worked with Ghost, so why not.

Rudy took a deep breath. “I think you’re… a good… person.”

Soap almost choked. Was this a compliment? Was he being complimented right now?

“You’re nice. Good.” Rodolfo patted him on the head. “What you did, even if it was stupid, was the right thing to do.”

Soap nodded blankly. They were being nice. 

Too nice. 

“Are you guys going to kill me?”

Rodolfo laughed. “No. We’re not going to kill you. Just relax.” He smiled at him. 

Soap’s heart didn’t slow down.

Ghost came back in eventually. “Price managed to seduce our neighbor and I swear if he eats that guy.” He shoved everything off Soap’s bed to sit on it. 

Soap should’ve reprimanded him, Ghost would probably listen, but he found it endearing. He was sketching. Luckily not Ghost. Just some random portraits. But this did give him a perfect opportunity.

“Ghost, sir.”

“Yes?”

“Can I draw you?” 

Ghost paused at that and looked at him. He weighed his options. “I suppose it has been a long time since I’ve seen what I look like…”

“Exactly. May be good to remember, yeah?”

Ghost tapped his fingers against the wood. “I think my last portraits were made at my wedding.” 

Soap had long since learned that Ghost had married a few times over the years, most of his spouses nothing more than political alliances or were ways to cover up what he was. Both admissions were said with so much guilt when Ghost had drank too much drugged blood that Soap felt inclined to believe him. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Price had an artist paint us consummating in a graveyard.”

“Did you… actually consummate… in a graveyard?”

“Yes. I wore the mask though.” 

Soap laughed a little. “Really? Mask on, fucking in a graveyard?”

“Yes. It was fun. I think that was the last time I get married actually. Didn’t mean much, just a little bit of fun.” He tilted his head back, exposing more of his jaw and throat. It made Soap feel funny things in the pit of his stomach. 

Soap focused on getting him on paper. He had the excuse and the permission to stare at him until he gets his fill. He wants to gulp Ghost down until he can only taste him in his mouth. A bitter aftertaste coffee couldn’t mask. 

Instead, he draws him. He makes two portraits. One he can keep, one for Ghost. He’ll pretend the first one had something wrong with it if Ghost sees it. That way he can have it. He could color it later. Make it as close to real life as possible. 

Maybe it was a tad obsessive, but Soap had always liked his things to be his and his only. Ghost couldn’t be one of his things but the portrait could be. All his. 

He spent the rest of the night and a good bit of the morning like this. Ghost taking up his bed, perfectly still. At one point, Soap was pretty sure he had dozed off, eyes closed and no sign of life in him. 

Soap finished the portrait and as soon as his pencil stopped scratching the page, Ghost opened his eyes and held out his hand. He painstakingly ripped out the page for him and handed it to him. 

“You left out my scarring.”

Soap tilted his head. “What?”

“My scars. The…” Ghost made a motion around his mouth to mimic a blade cutting his mouth. It made him think of the Joker weirdly enough. 

“What scars?”

Ghost looked hurt. “That’s not very funny, Soap.”

Soap didn’t understand, but Ghost seemed so upset it made him want to fix it. “I drew you exactly as you are. I didn’t change any details.”

“Yes, you did. You got rid of my scars. I understand if you don’t like them, but you could just admit it.” Ghost hissed at him. Clearly this was hitting some nerve that Soap couldn’t begin to understand. 

“Ghost. You don’t have any scars.” 

Simon swallowed so hard it made an audible click in his throat. “It’s the whole reason I cover up.”

Soap wasn’t sure if vampirism cured scars, but despite their lifestyles, none of the vampires had any, so it made sense. Maybe they just didn’t notice?

Ghost got up and went looking for Alejandro, Soap trailing behind him. He held the portrait up to Alejandro.

“I look like this?”

“Your hair is a little fluffier, but yeah. That’s how you look.” 

Soap thought Ghost was going to have a meltdown. 

“I look like this? Exactly like this? I have no scars?”

“No? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve never been scarred up.” Alejandro looked confused. 

Simon started to scratch at his arm, clearly going through a lot right now. 

Soap made a decision right then and there. He was going to keep Ghost from having to deal with anything else for a bit. It wouldn’t be too hard to convince him to just relax at home for a little while. Just as long as no one brought any more news. 

Price burst into the room. 

“Guys. I’m getting married!!”

[lonelyredfox]

Thorn and Fox - Pride lore

I have too much lore on the drawing and no one to vent it to so I’m going to post it here.

I think Fox would describe Thorn as his sun. They’re the one who brighten up his day, who make everything more bearable. Fox seems to carry the whole planet on his shoulders and Thorn is always there trying to help him in whatever way they can. The little golden sun (tragus?) piercing in Thorn’s ear was a gift from Fox. They don’t have many credits, so Fox saves up for many months before he can buy it (and spends all the credits he has.) He wanted them to know that they’re his source of warmth, his comfort and one of the few things in his life that still give him hope. When he gave it to them, he said that their love shines brighter than any sun could. Thorn never takes it out, only to clean it occasionally.

Fox is Thorn’s moon. He’s the brightest source of light during their darkest times. He’s the one who takes care of the whole Guard. Who protects their shinies from senators and the other evils on Coruscant, that no amount of training could have prepared them for. One night Thorn tells Fox exactly that. Fox replies that the moon can only shine because it reflects the light of the sun. If Thorn cried, no one had to know. They decide that they want to gift Fox something as well. It has to be something subtle that won’t be noticed and won’t get in the way (Piercings don’t matter because the Guard isn’t ever allowed to take their helmets of outside of their barracks). He gets him a (tragus??) piercing as well. A silver one that looks like it has thorns surrounding it. Fox is over the moon (HA!).

While buying the piercing for Fox (which also cost a significant amount of credits) Thorn finds the little fox earring. They can’t afford it, but the salesperson finds them so sweet that they gift it to them. (It’s the middle of the war and the shop is one of the few that still allowed clones. The owner is a nice Trandoshan. The piercings were objectively not expensive at all. The Guard didn’t really get leave and that’s the only time when the troopers are given money, hence why they all have to throw their credits together to buy a single bottle of alcohol. Also, Stone, Thire, Hound and the Corrie CMO (Break?) somehow found out about the gifts the two were giving to each other so they all secretly put some credits into the stash.) The little Fox will always remind Thorn of him. When Fox sees it he hugs them and doesn’t let go for a long while.

After the war and without the barrier the helmet provided Fox gets increasingly insecure about his scars. Thorn makes sure to remind him everyday that they’re just a sign that he survived and that he saved others. Thorn is not as confident with their scars at they let on but Fox makes sure they know how beautiful they still are

Fox calls Thorn tran (sun) or tranyc (lit. star-burned but translated with ‘sunny’). The first time he called them that Thorn’s smile was so bright it complemented the name perfectly.

Thorns tattoos are the wings that are also painted on his helmet.

The Guard crest was already there for a few months while the Mythosaur in Fox’s tattoo was added shortly before the end of the war when the Guard collectively agreed that Fox was more mandokarla than anyone else. The smoke between the symbols represents the shadows they had to walk through and the generally shady atmosphere in the Core. (The skull in between stands for the death they escaped.)

The ten-ten (his CC number) was tattooed on him by someone Palpatine hired. He wanted to make sure Fox would never forget his place. Fox despised the tattoo with every fibre of his being. He saw it as a symbol of all his failures for a long time but learned to live with it. When he had the option the get rid of it, he declines.

(no idea if the thing with the link worked, I'm a little confused; also please have mercy on my writing, English isn't my first language)

[jennyboom21]

In 2023 actor Sophia Bush made headlines when she filed for divorce one year after a storybook wedding. By the fall it was public knowledge that she was in a new relationship. With a woman. The internet seemed to be foaming at the digital mouth for a scandal, but to those who knew her, it was clear she’d never been more herself. Here, in her own words, Bush speaks to the power of finally learning to listen to her intuition.

In April of 2022 I was close to calling off my wedding. Instead of running away, I doubled down on being a model wife. In 2023 my now ex-husband posted a lovely tribute to our first anniversary on Instagram. When I saw it, I felt the blood drain from my face. Fans and friends were telling me how exciting this milestone was and how happy I looked. I felt nothing. Things hadn’t been easy at home, but everyone says marriage is hard, right? As the day wore on, I felt mounting pressure from strangers online waiting for me to post something—what a strange part of public life to have to navigate—so I sat myself down and chose a picture.

It was a black-and-white photograph of us running away from the camera. Yes, I see the bittersweet irony now. I wrote a really nice story about the people in that picture. Except it was just that: a story. I typed something about how incredibly happy I was and tried to drown out the familiar voice in my head. Make it look easy. Make it look perfect. If your smile is shiny enough, maybe no one will notice that up close all of your teeth are broken. But sometimes broken is just broken.

I hit post. And then I walked into the bathroom and threw up.

I believe in people and ideas so deeply—and those feelings are often so powerful to me—that I hadn’t realized I’d spent the last two decades moving through life showing up for others but often turning my back on myself. This time things felt different. Maybe it’s just cold feet, I told myself. Maybe I was too sensitive. Maybe this was the feeling you get when you settle down later in life and have to make space for another person. There have been moments in my life when it feels like the universe is screaming at me to pay attention. This was one of them, but I didn’t listen.

I kept repeating the adages we all know so well: Relationships are hard. Marriage takes compromise. You know the rest. And so I got married. We threw one of the greatest wedding weekends ever. We had an amazing time with our closest friends and family. It was truly one of the best parties I’ve ever been to, and we raised a ton of money for charity. I don’t regret any of that.

But after the wedding I found myself in the depths and heartbreak of the fertility process, which was the most clarifying experience of my life. It feels like society is finally making space for brutally honest conversations about how hard and painful any fertility journey is, but I kept mine private. I was trying to get through months of endless ultrasounds, hormone shots, so many blood draws that I have scar tissue in my veins, and retrieval after retrieval, while simultaneously realizing the person I had chosen to be my partner didn’t necessarily speak the same emotional language I did.

As I lost track of how many examination tables I had lain on alone, I felt something in me seismically shift. Six months into that journey, I think I knew deep down that I absolutely had made a mistake. It would take my head and heart a while longer to understand what my bones already knew.

And that’s why, when I got an opportunity to do a play in London, I had to go. I had to get out of our house. I had to get onstage. I had to get back in my body. Maybe that could shift things. Maybe that would jump-start the joy I’d been chasing. The play slowly began to put me back together. It was grueling, and it was also the most exhilarating experience. I loved every second of it.

But the book doesn’t lie. The body does, in fact, keep the score. When half of our company went down with a virus, everyone recovered fast except for me. I continued to decline. I would put every fiber of my being into my performance onstage, and then be packed in bags of ice as soon as the curtain closed. I spent multiple nights in the hospital, I was pumped with endless amounts of fluids, I underwent cardiac testing and organ monitoring. It was clear that my body was screaming and I had to listen. It was hard for me to accept. I was part of a team. But I needed to go home, where my doctors (and, truthfully, my health insurance) could get a better handle on my symptoms. My time in London was over. So was my marriage. It all came crashing down at once.

During the summer of 2023, I moved back into my empty home in LA. I was separated and preparing to file for divorce, and groups of women in my life started opening up about issues they were going through in their own homes. It seemed like every week there were more of us, including [former US soccer player] Ashlyn [Harris], whom I’d first met in 2019 and who was in the process of figuring out her own split from her wife. She’d been such a kind ear for those of us who opened up about our problems during a shared weekend of speaking engagements at a fancy conference in Cannes, and soon it became clear that she needed our ears too.

For those of us who had no solution in sight or Hail Marys left, having this community changed everything. We really wrapped one another up in support. It was tragic and hard. But it was also beautiful. There were moments of incredible sadness because no one signs up to get married thinking it’ll end. The days when we knew people needed to laugh, we sent inspirational memes and silly TikToks. We read books written by great therapists and shared emo quotes from poets. Our “Begin Again” Amazon shopping list, which we created for the ones moving out and starting over, has now been forwarded to so many other women.

I didn’t expect to find love in this support system. I don’t know how else to say it other than: I didn’t see it until I saw it. And I think it’s very easy not to see something that’s been in front of your face for a long time when you’d never looked at it as an option and you had never been looked at as an option. What I saw was a friend with her big, happy life. And now I know she thought the same thing about me.

It really took other people in our safe support bubble pointing out to me how we’d finish each other’s sentences or be deeply affected by the same things. When you’re so in the trenches of hardship—plus you have the added weight of having to go through it on a public stage—it can be hard to see anything but what’s right in front of you.

It took me confronting a lot of things, what felt like countless sessions of therapy, and some prodding from loved ones, but eventually I asked Ashlyn to have a non-friend-group hang to talk about it.

And that meal was four and a half hours long and truly one of the most surreal experiences of my life thus far. In hindsight, maybe it all had to happen slowly and then suddenly all at once. Maybe it was all fated. Maybe it really is a version of invisible string theory. I don’t really know. But I do know that for a sparkly moment I felt like maybe the universe had been conspiring for me. And that feeling that I have in my bones is one I’ll hold on to no matter where things go from here.

But there was a lot that quickly turned ugly too. People looking in from the outside weren’t privy to just how much time it took, how many painful conversations were had. A lot of effort was made to be graceful with other people’s processing, their time and obligations, and their feelings. What felt like seconds after I started to see what was in front of me, the online rumor mill began to spit in the ugliest ways. There were blatant lies. Violent threats. There were accusations of being a home-wrecker. The ones who said I’d left my ex because I suddenly realized I wanted to be with women—my partners have known what I’m into for as long as I have (so that’s not it, y’all, sorry!).

The idea that I left my marriage based on some hysterical rendezvous—that, to be crystal-clear, never happened—rather than having taken over a year to do the most soul crushing work of my life? Rather than realizing I had to be the most vulnerable I’ve ever been, on a public stage, despite being terrified to my core? It feels brutal. Just because I didn’t want to process my realizations in real time on social media and spell them out for the world doesn’t mean the journey wasn’t long and thoughtful and exhaustive.

It’s painful to be doing deep work and have it picked apart by clueless strangers. Everyone that matters to me knows what’s true and what isn’t. But even still there’s a part of me that’s a ferocious defender, who wants to correct the record piece by piece. But my better self, with her earned patience, has to sit back and ask, What’s the fucking point? For who? For internet trolls? No, thank you. I’ll spend my precious time doing things I love instead.

I don’t believe it’s my place to discuss details of Ashlyn’s circumstances or her children, but I will say that I am absolutely in awe of her relentless integrity. The way she prioritizes and centers her kids, not only in her life but in the core of her being, is breathtaking to behold. Falling in love with her has sutured some of my own childhood wounds, and made me so much closer to my own mother. Seeing Ashlyn choose to not simply survive, but thrive, for her babies has been the most beautiful thing I’ve ever witnessed a friend do. And now I get to love her. How lucky am I?

I sort of hate the notion of having to come out in 2024. But I’m deeply aware that we are having this conversation in a year when we’re seeing the most aggressive attacks on the LGBTQIA+ community in modern history. There were more than 500 anti-LGBTQIA+ bills proposed in state legislatures in 2023, so for that reason I want to give the act of coming out the respect and honor it deserves. I’ve experienced so much safety, respect, and love in the queer community, as an ally all of my life, that, as I came into myself, I already felt it was my home. I think I’ve always known that my sexuality exists on a spectrum. Right now I think the word that best defines it is queer. I can’t say it without smiling, actually. And that feels pretty great.

Would I have liked to make the public part of this journey a choice for myself, and not have it taken from my lips and set ablaze by gossip blogs and bottom-feeder online bots? Of course. I’m very aware, though, as we discuss bullying and harassment and being outed without consent—that I’m incredibly lucky this happened in my adulthood. I really love who I am, at this age and in this moment. I’m so lucky that my parents, having spent time with Ash over the holidays, said, “Well, this finally looks right.” I know it could have gone differently.

We’ve all learned about kids who have taken their own life after being outed or who have been killed simply for being who they are in a place or time that is threatened by their expressed joy. I am so lucky to be here, now. I have real joy. It took me 41 years to get here. And while I marvel at it, I will also make space for people’s pain. But I will not carry anyone’s projected shame. When I take stock of the last few years, I can tell you that I have never operated out of more integrity in my life. I hope that’s clear enough for everyone speculating out there, while being as gentle as I possibly can be.

After the news became public, my mom told me that one of her friends called her and said, “Well, this can’t be true. I mean, your daughter isn’t gay.” My mom felt that it was obvious, from the way her friend emphasized the word, that she meant it judgmentally. And you know what my mom said? “Oh honey, I think she’s pretty gay. And she’s happy.”

I finally feel like I can breathe. I don't think I can explain how profound that is. I feel like I was wearing a weighted vest for who knows how long. I hadn’t realized how heavy it was until I finally just put it down. This might sound crazy—but I think other people in trauma recovery will get it—I am taking deep breaths again. I can feel my legs and feet. I can feel my feet in my shoes right now. It makes me want to cry and laugh at the same time.

It is so, so scary to do the brave thing, to say, “I’m just not happy.” Especially if you’re in a partnership and you have to say it first. But if you do it, you get the chance to be happy. To find your joy. I turned 41 last summer, amid all of this, and I heard the words I was saying to my best friend as they came out of my mouth. “I feel like this is my first birthday,” I told her. This year was my very first birthday.

[little-red-fool]

Another question for you hehehe How does Jackal feel about his body? Does he care about the scars? And how was his recovery after the explosion going? (Btw, did he meet Ocelot befor or after it?)

Ehe thank you :3c

Jackal met Ocelot 10 years after the explosion, which happened during his first mission as a merc. He was far enough from the explosion to not be dealt any fatal or serious injuries, however he was still close enough to get hit by a shit ton of flying glass which caused a lot of lacerations and punctures over his body (most of these were on his front and left side of his body, as well as his right forearm, due to how he tried to turn away and shield his face from the explosion—my drawings are slightly inaccurate though because I just tend to put the scars wherever lmao)(the slice in his left ear and cheek is also from the explosion). A lot of the wounds were quite shallow so none of his vital organs were hit but there were some deeper ones especially around his upper arm, side, and thigh that required a lot of stitches so his physical recovery time was probably around a month since some of the larger and deeper wounds took longer to heal.

The mental aspect of his recovery took a bit longer—he’d served in the military for 10 years prior to becoming a merc but even then he’d gotten through it with barely a scratch, maybe a couple scars here and there but they were usually small and easy to cover. Which is quite a big difference to having your body become a mosaic of scars that are difficult to hide, and the pain was probably the worst thing he’d ever felt as well. Even after being physically recovered for some time he didn’t go on any missions for a while due to the fear of something like that happening to him again. He still has nightmares about it but it doesn’t bother him as much and he’ll talk about it a bit if asked but he doesn’t like to go into detail.

As for how he feels about his scars, when they were newer he was very insecure about them—Jackal’s always been a little vain (so as to how he feels about his body in general—👍) and gaining that many scars all over his body pretty much overnight was quite upsetting for him, so he’d try to cover them up the best he could, like always wearing long sleeves and trousers, and it’s also the reason he grew out his hair, so he could hide his ear and cheek better. But yeah the explosion damaged his self-esteem quite a bit. I think him getting shot in the mouth later on actually helped him feel differently about his scars, because that could have killed him, it shattered part of his skull and ripped out one of his teeth, but he still survived with scaring and got a metal plate in his skull with a replacement tooth that could be used as a weapon. After that he started viewing his scars more as ‘well I’m a really tough guy to fucking kill, if I can survive that I can survive anything’. It also got him to feel better about his previously derogatory nickname “jackal” which he got in the army for his cowardice and untrustworthiness, but turns out jackals are notoriously tricky and apparently known to “cheat death” so it’s something else he started to wear with pride too. I’ve mentioned previously in another post but the explosion was how he got the “Glass” part of his nickname “Glass Jackal”. Now he actually quite likes his scars as again they’re proof of how difficult he is to kill, and he’s comfortable with showing them now which is why he can wear tank tops without feeling insecure. He does get a few stares and questions because even for a soldier he’s got quite a lot of scars, and it does annoy him a little but he also thinks it adds some mystery and an intimidation factor which he’s alright with.

[gothy-froggy]

Hi so sorry about One Piece literally being my Roman Empire right now but I have a few things I think are really silly and wholesome.

So I have this character I made while I was bored. She’s known as “strange creature” because…she’s a strange creature

And I’m imagining that this like 2-3 feet creature being in the One Piece universe where literally no one can be mean or bring themselves to harm her.

This motherfucker is like SCP 999 just silent and stares. That gives everyone she likes gifts that she finds.

Strange creature gives people gifts that reminds her of them. If she really likes someone she makes gifts for them. So I’ll be telling you all which gifts she gives to different One Piece characters because come on, she’s adorable.

———————————-

Luffy

Old key

Strange creature’s first gift for Luffy was a key. Why?

Well to strange creature, keys unlock a door to a new journey and a new story. She sees Luffy as a key since he just goes right for it, into the unknown without fear. She sees him just as adventurous as a key ready to unlock a new journey.

Zoro

Pillow

She knows that humans need to sleep. So Zoro barely getting any sleep but also sleeping a lot concerns her in her own way. Because he naps she sees a pillow and it reminds her of him.

The gift is also out of concern and her telling him to get more rest. She’ll just go to his room, grab the pillow and just chuck the pillow at his face. I’m not joking. She literally does that.

Nami

Unopened crystal

Do y’all remember that Barbie movie where Barbie has an amethyst and calls the guy “unassuming?” That’s what I mean, but the meaning is different.

Strange creature holds the amethyst as if it’s a rock before opening it to Nami. It’s her basically saying that she comes off as cold and tough on the outside, but has a tragic yet beautiful story that made her such a wonderful woman. Strange creature tries to write out what she means, but she doesn’t know English so the gang just needs to decipher her language.

Usopp

Carnelian necklace

Now strange creature can’t exactly connect with him, which is rather unusual for her. It’s not that she dislike or hate him, she just doesn’t fully understand him.

But she knows he’s scared. She wants to help. So strange creature gives him…a necklace? No, no, no, a carnelian necklace. Strange creature studied crystals because they’re colorful and shiny. She loves those things. She learned how to read the English language, but can’t write. So she made a (awful) drawing demonstrating that carnelian gives you confidence. She just wants to help Usopp to help him reach his dream :(

Shanks

Fox plushie

Strange Creature kept following Shanks around and that’s how she ended up just being with him. Shanks literally could not shake this small thing off. So he eventually gave up and just allowed her. Strange creature comes up to a hungover Shanks just staring at him until he asks what she wants and she just holds the fox plushie up to him.

Strange creature loves foxes. She likes that they’re playful, cute yet very mischievous. Foxes reminds her of Shanks on so many levels. So strange creature found a fox plushie and gave it to Shanks. In her very terrible hand writing, there’s a note saying “remins me of yu”

…she’s still learning English leave her alone.

She also customizes it by giving it a straw hat, his scars, and a black jacket by a fabric she found.

Mihawk

White rose

Let’s say she lands in One Piece and ended up with Mihawk than the straw hats. It didn’t take her long to like Mihawk. Sure, his style isn’t the most bright and colorful out there, but he’s stylish. She likes it. So Mihawk’s gift is a white rose. Very elegant, very pretty but those thorns hurt.

Strange creature saw someone get hurt by the thorn of a rose and it reminded her of Mihawk. So she took one. She chose white because it’s not a flashy color, but fits Mihawk’s style and aesthetic well, like the feather on his hat. So she took a white rose, waddled on over to a sitting down with feet up on desk Mihawk and gave him the white rose.

Arlong

Armor piece

Arlong probably saw it as an insult so she attempts to draw it multiple times to explain. One that finally works is Arlong in front of a mirror and the reflection being the piece of armor. The fishmen and strange creature playing game to help Arlong know the meaning of the odd gift 😭

This was her basically saying he’s a very tough cookie. Both physically and personality wise. Though she isn’t insulting Arlong. Strange creature thinks everyone should be a little bit a strong cookie like him. In a way, strange creature respects Arlong and she saw a shiny armor piece as Arlong.

Buggy

Colorful jacket

Strange creature most likely gets along with Buggy with the most, or at least top 3. If a strange creature ended up with Buggy, she loved the circus. So much. When they go to a village, she walks over to Buggy and give him a really, really nice bright jacket that’s right up his alley.

Style, bright, colorful things will almost always go to Buggy. So when she sees the jacket, she uses her strange yet adorable face to get for free along with a little rock, thinking it’s money, to give to buggy. She’s struggles a bit. Strange creature his carrying this big jacket around, bumping into things and people until she stumbles over to Buggy. She was very proud of her find.

Circus themed tarot cards

Two gifts? Wow, she gets along with him. Strange creature saw Buggy trying to get information with some cards and went for a little hunt on land for some tarot cards. She found a shop and looked for the perfect deck. Strange creatures found one that has clowns and were very circus themed. She held the card deck up to Buggy.

Juggling balls, Buggy themed

Yes, Buggy had became strange creature’s favorite. So much, Buggy got a deserved handmade gift from her. Strange creature noticed how much Buggy juggles. So she wanted to show how much she really sees Buggy as her friend.

So she spent a lot of time to make Buggy handmade juggling balls that represents Buggy the Clown. Some having the Buggy skull symbol, some with him in a simple yet nice art style, and his colors. She leaves them in a present box for him. She was also very proud of her work for him.