#face trauma tw
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azulin warm up pensive emoji
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WAS GONE ALL DAY SO U GUYS GET A SKETCH FOR TODAY SRY
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Ego and the mimicry of a saint (and more than a little sacrilege)
-Please do not reupload, edit, or use without proper credit or linking back, ask first.-
#nerevoryn#indoril nerevar#voryn dagoth#nerevar#dagoth ur#morrowind#tes#tesblr#the elder scrolls#face trauma#blood#trypophobia tw#artsyfartsyness#gotta draw some occasional weird nerevoryn feat unsettling imagery#granted I think that's my brand with them regardless#time for that good ol voryn mimicking nerevar's face being removed with himself to posture himself as being of equal standing#as I mentioned in that one post before
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Procrastinated last night and drew some more edgy art of Travis :)
#travis phelps#sally face#sally face fanart#sally face fandom#travis phelps fanart#sally face travis#salvis#sal x travis#religious trauma#tw religious themes#tw abuse#he was just a kid#kenneth phelps#fanart#my art#my stuff
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more post session brainworms of the cowboy, things have not in fact gotten better and he's in fact more tired then he's ever been every single week <3 now with added trauma triggering!
Virgil Lawrence | He/Him | 212 Years Old | Ex-Sabbat Brujah Vampire
Session/Image Context below:
finally got his coterie mate's crazy tremere ex dead and gone, and then had to listen to a baby sabbat brujah's entire life and family collapse around her. also he got a new knife for free (by being stabbed)!
PoV you're the Boston Prince (who totally deserved this) and have been in office 100 years after your predecessor was also killed by being thrown off a building by the same cowboy.
PoV you're a coterie member who pissed off the already EXTREMELY on edge and furious brujah by rebuking his attempts to suicide bait you and he just drew his 10+ pool revolver.
damn hard to stay keeping it together when you see and hear the ghosts of your kindred loved ones all around you all the time and in the words spoken by those around you, without anyone meaning to do it
#my art#virgil lawrence#BRUJAHS CANT BE HAPPY IN OUR CHRONICLES#the boston prince showed him photos of his old vampire gang's skinned faces mounted in a museum somewhere in boston#and the photos had the prince giving HIS SIRE AND LOVER'S FACE bunny ears#so honestly kinda justified with throwing him out a window of a high rise#but then also he thought he was finally getting let go by the tzimisce and. turns out he's now part of the personal coterie of a fae lord#which means he's just in ANOTHER type of captivity now and won't be allowed to leave because he's 'property' of the fae now#and everyone is talking about how they're all bonded together now and a 'family' and#ALL OF HIS TRAUMA TRIGGERS ARE BEING HIT AT ONCE RIGHT NOW on top of general overstimulation and too many people and being in a city and#shoutout to my STs promising “virgil will have fun soon” and its been like 3 sessions since that promise and he still isnt having fun DFKHH#artists on tumblr#digital art#digital drawing#original character#vtm art#vtm oc#vtm brujah#vtm sabbat#vampire oc#vampire: the masquerade#vampire#cowboy oc#cowboy art#cowboy#tw: blood
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watching the rain
One last thing before I actually focus on DxP loool have a little mental health break with us & a relaxing rainy Pokemon playlist by shadowatnoon 🌧️
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The rest of this post might be upsetting if topics like mental health, depression, or trauma are sensitive ones to you. If that’s you, maybe stop here, & just watch the rain with us (& take care of yourself, okay?) 🩵
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So. “What now?”
For a lot of us, the world feels very scary right now. I’ve been going back & forth between wanting to hide & wanting to take action. The current atmosphere is familiar in a bad way, just as familiar as the ones who’re making it feel this unsafe. At least I’m not alone this time. I’d like to help anyone feeling alone now to not be, too.
With that in mind, I figured maybe it could be helpful if I shared some things that helped me when things were unsafe &/or unstable in my life.
If that sounds like something you may want or need right now for whatever reason, get comfy - I, uh, spent waaay more time than I planned to on this (been sitting in my drafts for days) 🫖
—
Decide you are going to make it through this
Right now, every day, & especially during those dark, starless nights.*
You have the right to exist & be happy. You have the right to live how you want, with whom you want, & you deserve the safety & security to live that life. That is your basic human right. So keep going. Keep living the best you can, even if your best is just “enough”.
*If you ever feel unsafe or self-destructive, reach out to someone safe - family, a friend, your therapist, 988 (the national crisis lifeline), or whoever can help you best in that moment. While it can be scary or embarrassing, you’re worth it 🩵
Stay grounded in the truth
Always hold onto who you are & what you know to be true. Always.
I really believe this was ultimately what got me out of the bad situations I was trapped in. Even when I was at the point when I constantly blamed myself or believed every awful thing I was taught about myself & the world, there was always a small part of me that still knew, “No. That’s not true. This isn’t right.”
This can take a lot of mental fortitude, especially if there’s an unsafe person trying to challenge your truth or identity, or if they are actively doing what they can to gaslight you (& your peers so they can pass their behavior off as acceptable, even “right”). If you find yourself in a spot where it’s not safe to freely be yourself, remember: so long as there’s a part of you that holds onto the truth, you can make it.
So hold onto that, even if it makes you confused, or so angry you feel sick - it’s confusing because reality doesn’t match up with the truth, & it makes you angry because it’s unjust that it doesn’t. No matter what people say, the sky is still blue.
Detox your contacts
Depending on who it is, this is going to SUCK, but I can absolutely promise you this: your relief will outweigh your grief. Every single time I’ve said goodbye to toxic / unsafe people, places, communities, etc. I was always happier for it in the end.
Could be as simple as setting reasonable boundaries (if you don’t know what boundaries are as once I didn’t, it’s basically your human right to say “no” & have personal space), or if they’ve proven they will not respect your boundaries, saying goodbye until / unless they will.
There are some you can’t make that healthy separation right now - maybe you’re a minor or dependent adult in a toxic home, or you don’t have another job lined up from your toxic one yet. Whatever your situation is, this where you try to keep things on your terms as much as you can, & do whatever you can to ensure your immediate well-being as you make any boundaries or exit plans as needed for your long term well-being.
I’ve been hearing a lot of stories of people uninviting folks (or themselves) from the upcoming holidays. Been there. If you find yourself having to spend it with limited / no company: it can be lonely at first, but it can also be really nice when I looked for ways to celebrate anyways (dive into all the nice things about the season, have a little Friendsgiving, or just have a cozy one at home) ^_^
Find safe people (but be careful)
I said in a post not long ago that unsafe people often try to isolate you so you feel all alone. It’s easy to feel alone when bad things are happening - that’s why it’s important to have safe people to turn to when they happen. Especially now, we need to be there for each other. 🩵
Here’s the “be careful” part: not all of your safe people will be able to be there for you in every kind of moment. Most are just your buddies you can laugh & play with, forget your worries for a while as you talk about the weather. Some can listen to your troubles & worries, offering whatever comfort or advice they can. Very few can be there with you when you’re IN the trouble, & stand by you as needed.
Depending on how vulnerable you are, it can be very easy to cling to the wrong one, which can be embarrassing at best, very unsafe at worst. Wait. Take a breath. Sleep on it if you have to. Take as much time as you need to assess if they’re the one to be with you in whatever way you need.
I can’t tell you how much easier it’s been for me to keep going no matter how bad things got with even one safe person to turn to. When you’ve found that person, be sure to treasure them! 🩵🩵🩵
Enjoy life whenever you can! ^0^
In times like this, it’s so important to remember that there ARE still good things, good people, good places in this world. We need to make time for these good things, even if just for a few minutes.
So dive into your hobbies, keep your passions alive! Hang out with your friends, play Pokémon, draw, read, write, swim, play with your pet. Dust off the instruments you’ve been neglecting, have an awful jam sesh, laugh about it, & keep playing until it sounds kinda okay! If you don’t have a hobby, find one - it can be a lot of fun to discover what you like! Whatever is in your means that makes you feel happy & alive, do that
The thing I’ve always turned to the most is drawing - I have all these old diaries & sketchbooks from when I was a kid of just doodles & comics. My school notebooks all the way up to college have margins full of drawings - doodling helped me stay in the present. Then I started posting them online over the years, made some friends, & here we are! ^7^
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I can appreciate that this advice isn’t perfect, & it may not fit your exact circumstances. That’s okay - if there’s even just one good thing you can take from this, then I’m happy.
To anyone who might be struggling right now & feel hopeless: thank you so much for being here! I am overjoyed that you are still here with us, even when you had days, weeks, even years when all you wanted to do was give up (I know). Keep living. Keep smiling whenever you can. Keep reaching out. Keep weathering that storm, even when no one else can hear it thundering over you. I’ve found that when I kept going, it’ll clear up…usually before you realize it. 🌦️🌈
Stay safe out there. Lots of love,
Anastasia (aka Ansy) 🩵
#pokemon#rain#mental health#tw trauma#tw cptsd#tw depression#hope#personal#i love my plush team so much#their little faces make me smile#also it’s “AH-nah-STAH-see-ah” lol#“AHN-see” in case anyone was wondering - Ansy doesn’t rhyme with “pansy” XD
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I don’t know how to feel about this Eridan because reasons.
#eridan ampora#homestuck#homestuck fanart#how can I express to others the complexities of my sadness#without coming across as trite#or self important#it’s actually funny that I was drawing Eridan while I felt like that#that deep understanding of how unlikable you’re appearing to others#juxtaposed with an inability to stop yourself from continuing to be pathetic and ugly#you talk to so many people about the same thing over and over#feeling it bubble at the back of your throat like tar in every conversation#and you’ll see it on their faces#the pity#the annoyance#you can’t stop it from bubbling though#you can’t stop yourself from spilling over#idk if this counts as trauma dumping#tw vent#just in case#I Guess
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sum gorey Vincent art I never finished properly lol
#anotha gorey piece for my vincent gore collection LMAAOOOOO#silent hill#silent hill 3#vincent smith#fanart#silent hill fanart#sh3#video games#silent hill series#artwork#silent hill art#gore#art#cw: gore#bloody#blood#tw blood#cw blood#head shot#head trauma#gore art#digital art#artists on tumblr#my art#illustration#drawing#digital painting#face trauma#deformation
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Hamish having flashbacks of the war in Casa Amor not making it to the Villa AND losing raunchy races AGAIN.
#litg memes#litg#litg hamish#litg all stars#litg season 9#litg season nine#litg s9#if you’re thinking of switching remember this face#war isn’t a joke but I just used the meme I’m sorry 😞#tw war#tw trauma#tw ptsd#I think I added everything there 😭😭#just a joke though I’m sorry you know he was like#this again?!?! are we trying to LOSE?!
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TW for those with religious trauma. A little long and just about something personal so putting it behind the cut, but basically:
I got to set a boundary and say No today, and that's huge.
I'm still mildly on FB to keep up with older friends and fam and events, and a few groups where I learn things generally from older folks (trust me, the old woodcarving guys aren't usually on tiktok). And let's just say I'm... very obviously not a Christian over there - not rude, not attacking, just happily on my own path. And there was this lady, who apparently had known me when I was 5 or so and had somehow stuck around. She had recently taken it upon herself to evangelize and 'bring me back' by repeatedly bringing up me loving Jesus at 5, and talking about God at me, and I am loved by him and etc etc don't you still talk to him, Pasta? Maybe that's why I remember you talking to him when you were little, so he can reach you through me, aren't you afraid Pasta that he's reaching for you and you'll miss it, etc etc.
Now I was raised strongly christian. The whole shebang. Christian elementary school, church every Sunday, youth groups on Wednesday, radio set to a christian station, etc. I'd heard these lines, believed those lines, said those lines for a long time. And even though my family was chill (one reason I wound up feeling supported enough to leave the church as an adult), I'm still unpacking a lot of that trauma. And one bit is my inability to set boundaries. Girls and women must always be polite, kind, and nice no matter what. Respect your elders when they speak. You are to be the sacred little vessel of the light and always be ready and willing to explain and advocate your beliefs even if someone's being mean, don't walk away. If someone asks you to help with something you don't want to do, you do it anyway, because your happiness and comfort doesn't matter, you are meant to serve.
I mentioned this while chatting with a group of friends the other night - I told them about this woman who'd been targeting me, and the bad memories it brought up and the ensuing anxiety attack when a bunch of things stacked a few weeks ago. And one of my friends turned and looked at me and gently said, 'why haven't you unfriended her?'
And I... paused at that. Why? Why hadn't I? Because this woman didn't 'intend' to be mean? Because I wanted to try to 'represent' something? Because I used to know her? Because I was afraid to be judged as rude? Because... my comfort and happiness didn't matter? Why on earth hadn't I?
Because... my comfort and happiness does matter. And I was being disrespected. It doesn't matter if I'm seen as rude. I'm allowed to say, 'no, you don't get to treat me like that.'
I... am allowed to cut someone off, even if they find that mean.
Even if they knew me when I was little.
Even if they have positive intent.
I don't have to give those people access to me if they're hurting me and trying to scare me.
And so I got home, and I rolled through that old list, and I culled it. Out went the people who I got a sick feeling thinking about. Out went the people who'd never really respected me. Out went the people who saw me as a trophy they could win by 'bringing me back'.
I said no to all of that.
I can say no.
And I know that seems small. But it feels like a giant leap for me.
#tw: religious trauma#pasta life update#i am STILL processing a lot of things but my frequent struggle to set boundaries is one of them#it's easier with people who can't throw childhood memories in your face#but even when it's a stranger i can struggle#but that epiphany just hit like 'wait i can so no. i don't have to let her do this to me. she's hurting me and I can walk away'.#and then i did it and i swear i got this RUSH#i feel really really good about it
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There’s something so important about Gillion - who never heals himself, who rushes into danger, who hides his wounds- facing death and realizing he isn’t unafraid as he was raised to be. He uses his magic on himself to help with the exhaustion, to keep his life intact. And still he tries to comfort Jay and Chip while he’s coherent, being realistic about his chances but refusing to make it painful. Wanting their possible last moments to be light, to be about seemingly inconsequential things, small favorites that still mean the world to him purely because they’re Chip and Jay’s favorites. And then when all is said and done, he makes a raccoon for Jay. He talks about raspberries for Chip. He uses his last saved up arcane energy to try desperately to stay awake, and it works, and it saves him in the final hour.
It’s just. There’s something about how he hasn’t had a chance to rest since the Feywild, really, truly rest. How this whole time he’s been down on himself and taking extreme risks. And now, at what might be the end of it all, he realizes he doesn’t want to die. He wants to live. And not to be able to save others, not to fulfill his destiny, not out of obligation to anyone else - but purely for himself. For all the little things. And though it’s not quite healing in the literal term, his nearly final act was spent trying to save himself - and it worked.
#tw again for tags I’ll say and let me know if I gotta tag any more#but the past 30 episodes have been gillion tidestrider gets the shit beat out of him by the narrative#gillion tidestrider faces passive suicidality and faces old trauma and fresh new trauma#he goes through a shift of his foundation as a person he loses his sister the whole filipe thing and then this Curse#and he goes through with a mindset of ‘these problems exist because I do’ with some heavy implications behind that#it’s been getting easier and easier to choose his own destiny and break from expectations but it’s still not easy#but facing real death. slow and creeping and painful. he realizes he wants to live#not live because destiny demands it but because his friends do. because he does. because he wants to know more and share more of himself#I just. there’s something about all of it yknow#jrwi riptide 98#jrwi 98#jrwi#jrwi riptide#gillion tidestrider#z speaks#at what point should I start tagging spoilers like. 100 maybe?
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If there's a good side to getting your face smashed in with a TV and needing to use a glass eye, Stu seems to have found it.
Billy has nightmares about it sometimes.
#he loves tossing it for unsuspecting people to catch like that one scene from the diary of a wimpy kid books#i dont think he'd like reading but he would binge the shit out of that series#so undivisive. everybody loves the series and everybody thinks book greg's a sociopath. exactly the way society should be#scream 1996#stuilly#stu macher#billy loomis x stu matcher#scream fanart#latenightsundayblues art tag#tw eye trauma#tw face injury
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Health and Hybrids (XX)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... A LOT of readers google what an "ostomy bag" is! Danny reestablishes his comfort with the Arabic numeral system!
Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
The next time Diana comes to visit her charge, her gloves are blue. Her scrubs are a pale pink. She is given a new face mask, and a new hair net, and walks through the double doors without needing to be buzzed in.
Alright. Perhaps the boy is not genuinely “her charge”. Still, he is hers to protect and to keep; although her position is, officially, as security to the medical team working with their young patient, the medical team knows as well as she does that the boy does not genuinely intend harm.
Is he prone to outbursts? Perhaps, but very few of them are powered. It is entirely understandable too, according to the mental health professionals on board the Watchtower: trauma affects how well one comports oneself and how one interprets their environment. They may see things, hear things, or misunderstand things, and believe they are under threat. The circumstance makes for a great deal of residual fear and mistrust.
Diana was once raised amongst communities of women with few untouched by battle fatigue. She recognizes the signs of lost time and of reawoken fear. She understands what battle-weary warriors are truly fighting against.
A doctor and a nurse mumble a greeting as Diana passes by them. “Morning, Wonder Woman.”
“Good evening,” Diana returns, eyes crinkling. One nurse visibly glances out the window—and then smiles, sheepishly, having forgotten their location in space. Time zones on the Watchtower are often…flexible; Diana, however, has only just returned from her day job. “How is the patient?”
A doctor jerks their head towards the monitor. It is only ever left on if no one else is in the room; privacy is key to recovery. The active monitor means that the medical team has left him alone for now. “Take a look. You might have to go kid wrangling again, Ma’am.”
Alright. Diana obliges them.
On the monitor, in little stick-figure form, are three figures, all sitting or crowded around the room’s singular bed. Her patient sits in his little white gown, legs still as ever, as Impulse drapes himself across the bedspread, and Robin (ex-Robin? Third Robin? Doesn’t he have a new name now?) stands at the bedside.
The Speedster wiggles, mouthing out words she can’t hear without a microphone. Robin is focused on something in his hand—a tablet, perhaps? If Impulse is chattering into the air, then Robin is short on answers; her charge, in comparison, looks back and forth between them, likely unable to understand what the two are up to.
Diana’s mask catches her sigh. “Busy, are they?”
“Do you think you can hold the red one down long enough for a refresher on proper PPE usage?” the doctor begs. The question appears to be genuine. “They just zoomed in a little bit ago. We’ve been trying not to disturb them, but without masks and gloves…”
…Her charge was still at risk for possible contamination or infection, as they couldn’t get consistently accurate test results on his immune system. Diana hummed. She could see the problem.
“I shall. Buzz me in, if you will.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
The door clicks open. Diana strides through, unafraid of teenagers or similar ilk, and content with her position as designated scolder.
And, to his credit, the Robin at her charge’s bedside recognizes Diana’s lack of enthusiasm with the situation, and winces with artful precision. Silly boy— as if Diana would believe that any Bat would be ashamed of breaking a rule if they had already chosen to break it. She cannot help but be fond of each Bird’s eccentricities in their own ways. Robin hides the contraband food in his hand behind his back.
Impulse, however, hardly notices her approach, draped over her charge’s casts as he is—a whiteboard in his hand, furiously scribbling away at whatever attempt at communication he has decided to test today. Having met several male teenagers in her recent years, there is a decent chance he has been drawing genitalia as well.
Diana politely coughs into her mask. The gesture is entirely performative. Robin responds by hiding a separate can of energy drink—opened—on the side table behind him, in the hopes of hiding it from view.
Impulse, who failed to notice her arrival, continues to scribble. Occasionally there will be a burst of superspeed, but it will be in contained little bursts. He likely either wants to preserve the marker, or he is taking more care with his attempted art than usual.
Her charge looks up.
His eyes are still a concern—glazed with a green film, they jitter back and forth ever so slightly when he tries to focus on any one object in particular. He hasn’t indicated any discomfort with his eyesight, however, so it hasn’t been addressed beyond documentation.
The crack in his face—from two inches above his white, nebulous hairline and trailing down to his chin—is visible evidence of an injury or gouge of some sort, with new pink skin all around the edges as the only visible sign of inhuman levels of healing. Diana has seen a number of scars, and a number of healed, gaping wounds, but it is occasionally unsettling to set eyes on her charge and see the still-healing brain matter, skull, and inner sinus cavity through a viscous, green, not-quite-organic wound filling material.
There seems to be a consistent rate of healing, though. Diana can only hope that recovery is possible.
“Good afternoon,” Diana greets softly. Her charge’s discolored fingers flex as his face turns to look at her. “Are you well?”
His green-tinged lips part and then come together again. He’s not not paying attention—he listens very well, and has begun to use certain words in English to compensate for his need for communication. That being said, Diana has little idea what he is and is not capable of understanding.
Impulse, however, finally recognizes the newest occupant in the room. “Wonder Woman! Uh—we totally had permission to be here this time! Promise!!” he offers, immediately switching from someone gleeful to see her from someone remembering their misdeeds.
Diana is very lucky that her mask covers her fond smile. If it is her job to be stern today, she ought to live up to the task. “Did you, now?”
Impulse beams sheepishly, and rolls off of the casts of a bemused half-alien boy. “Yes! Remember last time when the nurses all said I could ‘come whenever’ and ‘bring a friend’ and—“
“You were asked to buzz in ahead of time and put on your protective gear?” Diana finishes, wry. Before she is able to scruff him appropriately, however, the superpowered boy is already gone and back—now with an askew hairnet, an upside-down surgical mask, and gloves a size too large for his hands.
“So I did that!” Impulse protests, the mask moving unnaturally over his face. “Look! All dressed up!”
It is a well-intended last minute effort. Alas, it would all be for naught. Diana scoops up a squawking speedster by the nape, and a now-blinded-by-a-misplaced-surgical-mask Robin, and trots them both back to larger medical.
“One moment!” Diana tosses back to her charge, who is, understandably, concerned.
Still. It takes Wonder Woman, two nurses, and a paraprofessional to successfully sanitize and gear up an uncooperative speedster. Robin sulks through the entire process, but capitulates to it with more grace.
Her charge’s green eyes shine and his fingers curl around his few personal possessions as Diana returns to him his companions; she wishes, so dearly, that she could ruffle his pale hair. “All done!”
The teenaged heroes sprawl across his bed just as casually as they had before—if better prepared for their environment. Robin largely gives her charge his space, careful not to impede where he isn’t wanted, but Impulse freely shares affection that her charge, at least, does not visibly deny.
Diana has her own routine to complete. She heads for the intravenous injection bags, pulls out a fresh one, and cracks the seal. After that, it’s shaking to mix the concoction and a fresh replacement.
Impulse grabs one of the toys off of her charge’s side table and brings it into his lap. The board is tilted, and all the slotted-in pieces fall out. He spends some time sorting them by shape, and then by color, until her charge lifts trembling fingers to pick them up, very carefully, one by one.
She’s impressed. His pincer grasp recovery has not been consistently smooth sailing. “Excellent work,” she praises.
Robin looks up from his tablet. Impulse looks back at her and beams. Her charge gives her a brief look, observes that she doesn’t need anything from him at the moment, and gets back to sorting the little pieces back into their allotted slot.
Impulse rests his chin on the steel arm bar of her charge’s cot. The pose seems…uncomfortable. “Hey, Tim. He got them all right.”
Timothy Robin taps away at his tablet—no doubt taking down documentation of his own. Diana can’t help but feel affection; every Bat and every Bird is so nosy, but if she wants to actually see those notes on her charge, she will have to press Batman for them with a reasonably-sized threat.
“Really?” Robin asks, eyes on the screen. “Do you think the pieces were matched based on color, or actual understanding of the numerical system?”
Diana looks down, line in her hand as she reconnects the intravenous bag. The toy in her charge’s lap is a mock clock face. Each of the numbers is printed onto the removable piece, in different cut-out shapes, and painted different colors.
The atmosphere changes. The air itself tastes different—something like electricity sparks on her tongue. And then it’s gone.
“No, he’s looking to put the clock face back in order, specifically,” Impulse confirms. Ah. Speedforce. Diana should have been able to recognize the feeling by now. “He’s kind of annoyed, actually. It’s like a baby toy.”
“Well, it is a baby toy.” Robin taps away.
“Yeah, that’s why it’s annoying. He knows he should be able to do it.”
Impulse buzzes again, and her charge hums, stuffing his flat hand between the board and the sheet until he can tip it over without grabbing at it. He repeats the same process, the only difficulty stemming from his shaking grip and his shaking eyes.
The urge to pull him close and pet his hair is understandable, Diana reminds herself, but not conducive to his long-term comfort. She smiles at him, as best as she can behind a surgical mask, and discreetly checks his drainage bags to see if they need replacing while she’s already close.
“All’s well,” she declares at last, finished with anything that isn’t social. Thankfully, having two teenagers in the room takes care of her charge’s most frequent issue—boredom. She claps her hands together, and her charge looks up at her, eyes vibrating. “Do you require anything?”
Her charge looks at her. Her charge looks at his friend. “Ouatair?” he tries to enunciate, tongue thick against the green-filled split in his hard palate. “Pleese?”
“Ithinkhewantssomewater,” Impulse rushes to translate, but Diana already knows this request. The water provided is chilled in a refrigerator, and it takes no time for her to find sanitized cup and straw—steel, so as to be safe when dropped, and relatively uncrushable, with a handle for simple gripping.
She presents it to him grip-first. His expression is grateful, and frustrated. No warrior wishes to be in the position of needing constant. Diana can understand the wish to do things on his own.
“Soon,” Diana offers, voice a whisper. “You’re already better off than before.”
Her charge grumbles into his cup. His tongue, half-green, finds the straw for him; he chomps down on the straw, slurps as loudly as he can, and sulks.
Teenagers. Diana finds herself unable to understand how Bruce has so many of them, and understands perfectly well how easy it is to take on a child in need and make them your own.
The cup goes back onto the side-table, half-empty.
“Hey,” Robin starts again. He puts his tablet to the side. The white board is pulled out of Impulse's hands and goes onto her charge's lap, and with only a little whining. “How’s this?”
Her charge mumbles something neutral. His eyebrows scrunch together, but he takes the offered blue marker from Impulse and lets the boy uncap it for him.
“Yeah, it’s more adult or whatever,” Impulse encourages. Her charge sticks out a green-mottled tongue, but takes the marker to the white board and writes. Robin peers over his shoulder to watch. “It’s just the alphabet. A, B, C, D~!”
Her charge hums the tune back to him, continuing seamlessly where Impulse left off. The teen hero beams.
Diana stills.
“Yeah, you got it!” Impulse encourages, and peeks over the edge of the board to see her charge hard at work. His letters are wobbly, certainly, and there are some that he misses, but the alphabet song is a longstanding English-language tradition. He know it. He knows it by rote.
“You missed the ampersand,” Impulse points out. Her charge scowls through the fissure in his face.
…There is no reason for Diana to get excited. Yet. Robin-the-former is already jotting down his own notes, pleased with his observations. There are many reasons and many ways this teenager might have picked up the song. J’onn famously picked up on Earth’s radiowaves before being transported to Earth; this could be further evidence that her charge has some connection to Earth, or it could be a connection to something more bizarre and unusual.
There is no shortage of unusual events these days.
And, of course, Diana runs out of things to do. She smooths down her charge’s blanket, which he hardly notices in his frustration. She refills his water. She is tempted to go grab her copy of The Art of War from her bag in the other room, which she has read before, but which she is rereading at behest of Bruce’s newest initiative: Tactical Book Club. She is optimistic about the opportunities for further education this will provide her comrades-in-arms, if not underwhelmed by the reading material. As long as the teenage heroes are in the room, Diana is obligated to remain with them, in the event that the danger level might…fluctuate. A book would give at least the semblance of privacy to the three.
Her charge makes a noise. “Hay!”
Diana looks up. In shaky hands, resting on his lap, he holds up a largely complete alphabet. There are one or two shaky letters—thorn, which is fairly common, and eth, perhaps less so—but otherwise carefully drawn, very neatly done.
“Excellently done,” Diana praises. The alphabet is a triumph of the physical work it takes to heal.
Her charge beams through his craggy face, buzzing with delight.
"I dunno," Impulse teases, upside down on her charge's legs. "They're kinda wonky."
The boy's face scrunches, smears the color away with a swipe of his arm, and draws something else.
The board shakes with his exertion as he lifts it back into place on his lap, and Diana allows herself to sigh, audibly; sure enough, as she had expected, there is a misshapen, blue, cartoon representation of a penis.
Robin full-on cackles with surprise, but Impulse falls of the bed with laughter.
Unfortunately, it is now Diana's job to figure out how to scold a teenager, and one who speaks no known language besides. Based on the resulting expressions she earns, Diana is unsure if the scolding works, but. Well.
...She tried.
#teenage shenanigans triumph over adversity#even trauma. Even pain. Even horror.#ALSO we finally get an outside POV on his FACE#Danny's body is perhaps a little more fucked up than he knows#health and hybrids#danny phantom#dp x dc#dpxdc#dcxdp#tw gore#tw medical#tw body horror#dcu crossover
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I remember many times when my grandmother would make off hand remarks about how testosterone would make me look like a joke. that it would be funny and unnatural for someone like me to have a beard.
before that i remember my mother outing me to my grandparents without my knowledge or consent. and then having to sit with both of them on different occasions for a year while they tried to tell me i was just a masculine woman. One where they thought it was okay to ask if I'd get pregnant if a potential partner "really really wanted it 🥺" (Which. sidenote. what the actual fuck??)
i remember the day after one of those conversations my mother took me into town for a "suprise" from my grandma. and they tried to make me get my ears pierced. even when i said i didn't want to. the only reason they stopped was because i had an autistic shutdown in public and they were too embarrassed to keep trying to force me into it. That happened 2 years ago. i have very real trauma from that day.
They never cared about my gender nonconformity until i came out.
They still seem to believe that I'd only be a man if i actually secretly hated myself.
#i kinda just wanted to talk about some of the stuff I've gone through since coming out as a trans man#I've been very lucky that most of what I've faced was family and not the outside world but that definitely doesn't go for all transmascs#not even most#I'm so fucking angry at the world for the way my transfemme siblings are openly harrassed and assaulted#and I'm very grateful that i live in a place where “masculine women” aren't seen as a bad thing and also harassed#but my safety come from strangers assumptions that i am a cis woman making a fashion choice#i don't know the experience of *being* transfemme. so i listen. and i try to understand.#equally if you're transfemme. you don't know the experience of being transmasc. and that's okay. listen. and try and understand what you ca#and also#really fucking important#we need to stop completely fucking ignoring non-binary people when they speak about their experiences both in and outside our community#denying other trans people words for their experiences just leads to bitterness#and infighting#which we see a lot of#tw transphobia#transphobia#transmisogyny#transandrophobia#trauma#personal vent#I'm very much not here to start arguments i just needed to get this out somewhere#imp meows
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Mansuang (2023)
#mansuang#thai drama#trauma#flashback#panic attack#concern#bromance#comfort#face touching#crying#tw self harm#bas asavapatr#apo nattawin#whump#thai whump#asian whump
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DEVISER PODCAST SPOILERS
sometimes a family is a fancy meat computer and his beloved uncanny son (+ a dog if you're lucky)
#deviser podcast#deviser#deviser son#deviser dad#body horror#face horror#deviser spoilers#heavy gore#my art#dental trauma#teeth tw#meat#oof#blood
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