#i keep forgetting the tattoo someone remove it with laser

[madeby-meru]

hated the other one forget it exists its bad

[thebaddestofbatches]

The Bad Batch Preferences pt. 1

Kissing

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Crosshair

Favorite Place: Just behind your ear and along your jaw. He prefers to wrap his arms around you from behind and these places are easier to reach. Plus they’re more sensitive and he likes to watch you squirm.

Makeouts: Definitely. And frequently. Whenever he gets back from a mission, you do something he finds hot, or just because he hasn’t kissed you in awhile.

First Kiss:

It was hot on Techitua. Dusty too. You lowered your shades on your nose, a polarized version of Tech’s goggles as Crosshair opened a case on the ground.

A makeshift shooting range was set up parallel to the Marauder, a metal piece with a target spray painted on it placed at a distance of 25 meters.

Hunter had told you that if you wanted to stay on board, you needed to know how to defend yourself and assigned you to Crosshair, without even asking if you had any prior experience.

“Alright. I don’t expect you to be top notch with this thing.” Crosshair said, his tone borderline patronizing as he removed a small blaster from the case. “Blasters take a lot of practice to use correctly and you’re only a doctor. I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t hit anything.”

You raised an eyebrow at him and took the blaster from his hand. Barely looking at the target, you took aim and fired one, two, three, four, five shots.

Crosshair’s slack jaw and a quick glance told you they all hit the bullseye.

“You forget, soldier,” You said smugly. “I’m an army doctor. I can rip you apart and put you back together just as easily.”

Crosshair’s toothpick hit the dirt and then he was on you, smashing his lips to your hungrily.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Echo

Favorite place: Your hand. He likes to hold your hand and bring it up to his lips for absentminded kisses. When you cup his face, he turns his head and presses kisses to your palm.

Makeouts: Not too often. He’s shy after all his modifications and you definitely have to initiate them, but once he relaxes, then he’s into it.

First Kiss:

“Dang ferreck!” You swore as the control panel of the rescued radio shocked you for the fifth time that night.

You gave it a swift thump on the top in retaliation, gritting your teeth.

You needed this to work. It had to work. It’d been so long since you heard real music.

Another try at the wiring and another spark that singed your fingertips. You let out another string of curses and tossed your screwdriver onto the counter with a clank before thumping your forehead against the table repeatedly.

There was a gentle touch on your back that stopped your assault on your cranium. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel the poke of Echo’s prosthetic through your tunic.

“You alright?” He asked.

“No,” You grumbled into the metal.

Echo sighed quietly and after some shifting behind you, you raised your head to see his human hand disconnect two crossed wires and reconnect them at new points. There was a fizz of static and then a gentle song began to float through the speakers.

You let out a whoop of joy and leaped to your feet, grabbing the clone by his collar to pull him down for a quick kiss.

“Thank you!” You squealed, snatching up your screwdriver again and leaving Echo standing there, stunned and pink.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Hunter

Favorite place: Your neck. He likes to feel your pulse point and kiss the sunmarks and spots along your skin. It’s also one of the best places for him to get your scent.

Makeouts: Not as often as Crosshair, but frequent. He likes to be affectionate with you and when he gets time or feels stressed, being around you and close to you is his priority.

First Kiss:

You’d been separated from the Batch in a marketplace and were now wandering aimlessly.

As you passed an alleyway you heard a whistle and a man sidled up to you.

“Hey gorgeous,” He said. “Where you going?”

“Away from you,” You muttered, but he heard it anyway and snorted. “Feisty girl.”

A gag rose up in your throat and you increased your pace. Behind you the man called. “Hey I’m talking to you! Though I appreciate the view!”

A hand landed on your butt and you whirled, fist raised to deck the stranger for daring to touch you. Before you could though, someone stepped between you and punched him, hard.

You looked up to see Hunter, a deep scowl on his tattooed face as he glowered at your harasser.

“Don’t touch her,” He growled, drawing up to his full height.

The man spat and launched himself at Hunter, sending them both rolling to the ground.

There was some yelling and sounds of fists hitting bodies before Hunter scrambled to his feet breathing hard as your harasser lay on the ground, groaning.

Hunter turned to you with worried eyes and you punched him in the arm hard and then quickly pecked his lips. “You didn’t have to make a scene.”

“Sorry,” He said, not sounding sorry at all as he pulled you in for another kiss.

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Tech

Favorite place: Your forehead and temples. He can get so busy with this or that and a quick peck to the forehead is his go-to for affection when he’s caught up in something.

Makeouts: Usually whenever he gets an idea he wants to try with you. He learned affection mainly from books so he’s picking up more and more as he goes. Usually you initiate the sessions. However, when he gains confidence later in the relationship, things get more serious as he experiments.

First Kiss:

“Tech?” You called from the porch of your hideout. Hunter had sent you to fetch the male for dinner and so far he was nowhere to be found.

“In here!” The clone called and you followed the sound into the shed to see Tech holding two vials above a pot.

“What’re you doing?” You asked leaning on the doorframe.

“I’m testing a theory. The substance excreted from the fire salamanders’ skin may have some properties that can boost our explosives.” He replied, carefully tipping the vial of white powder in, followed by the orange liquid.

“And you thought it was a good idea to test that in my shed?” You said, quirking a brow.

The technician had the decency to look a little abashed. “Well it isn’t in the house.”

He set the tubes aside and picked up a firestarter, holding it over the pot. “And a spark to trigger the reaction..”

Crack. Fwoomp! Boom!

The small windows shattered and you ducked as a blaze burst up from the pot and then died out just as quickly, sending up a cloud of ash and dust.

When the smoke receded, you heard Tech give a small cough and looked over to see his whole face covered in soot and the front of his normally gelled back hair spiked up.

You burst into giggles, picking up a small cloth from the worktable and approaching the clone to wipe his goggles clean.

He blinked at you from behind the lenses, like he was surprised to see you and you smiled. “That went well.”

Tech gave you a sheepish look. “I’m sorry about the windows. I’ll fix them tomorrow.”

You laughed again, waving him off. “It’s alright. I was prepared for damages when I brought you lot here.”

He gave you a grateful look and suddenly you couldn’t help yourself, darting forward and pecking his lips.

Tech immediately turned scarlet. “What was that for?”

You shrugged. “For being you.”

And then you passed him the cloth with a wink. “Hunter says dinner’s ready. You should probably clean up a bit before you come inside.”

.*(*)*..**(*)**...**(***)**...**(*)**..*(*)*.

Wrecker

Favorite place: Your cheeks and nose. He likes to pepper kisses all over your face. He’s so enraptured by you that he wants to keep you close at all times to make sure you’re real. Plus he’s a massive cuddlebug.

Makeouts: On occasion. But this boy is too much of a teddy bear for anything more than gentle loving touches. He’s slow and sweet and so very careful with you.

First Kiss:

The Batch was pinned down in an abandoned bunker as a gang faction gathered outside. Echo was doing his best to reboot the turrets while Tech worked on the doors, but unless it happened fast, you weren’t getting out of this unscathed.

You were peering out one of the broken windows with Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker picking off grunts where you could, but they had greater numbers and illegal firepower.

A shot from a bike mounted turret hit the wall above your lookout and the ceiling caved in, causing Wrecker tackle you, cradling you to him as he rolled away.

“You alright?” He asked, pushing off of you, his voice higher than normal.

“Yeah.” You said and Hunter swore as glass shattered behind you.

“Echo!! What’s the status on those defense systems?!”

“Same as you asked thirty seconds ago!” Echo snapped. “These circuits are rubbish! This place should have been scrapped for parts years ago!”

Parts.

A light bulb went off in your brain and you immediately turned to Wrecker. “Give me a charge!”

“Why?!”

“Trust me!”

He gave you a look you couldn’t read under the helmet, but dropped an explosive in your palm.

Immediately you started dismantling it. “I need a gravmag, some wires, and anything explosive we can spare. Oh and Echo’s arm.”

“What?” Said Echo.

You ignored him and started your hunt for parts as you snatched a screwdriver, a multipurpose laser tool, and pliers from Tech’s backpack, stripped a console, broke Crosshair’s gravmag off of his grappling hook, and took three more charges from Wrecker. You dismantled, screwed, and rewired before beckoning Echo over and having him weld it all together.

“(Y/N),” Wrecker asked as he fired off another shot. “What are you doing?”

You waved him off as you activated your new, shoddy weapon of mass destruction and bolted for the window, lobbing it as hard and far as you could.

“Hit the dirt!” You yelled and there was a large boom and the whole building rattled.

When the dust cleared, you beamed proudly at the clear landscape.

The gang that had been surrounding your hiding place was now lying unconscious having been thrown a good 50 meters in all directions at extreme speeds.

“What-“ Said Crosshair in his rare stunned tone. “What did you do?”

“Simply,” You said. “I reversed the polarity and made it into a big bang.”

Wrecker whooped and tossed his helmet aside, scooping you into a bear hug and peppering kisses all over your face. “THAT’S MY GIRL!”

You turned pink and he drew back from you enough to press a sweet kiss to your lips, which only served to fill your face with crimson.

There was an awkward cough from one of his brothers and Wrecker turned a similar shade of red, setting you back on the ground.

“Er-“ He said, patting your shoulder awkwardly. “Good job.”

[struwwelzeter]

Could laser removal explain why it's been looking badly taken care of? I noticed it fading unevenly but I assumed he was just not looking after it enough. I'm an overthinker so my immediate thought is that it was one of those mental illness decisions that some of us make and regret. I know we shouldn't assume but the tattoo and the way he was on the Lindemann tour remind me of me when I wasn't going well mentally.

Tattoos go blotchy during laser removal, but hand tattoos do have a tendency to get blotchy really fast in any case due to being so subjected to mobility and the amount of stretching and folding the skin is going through. The circumstance/timing in which he got them makes me think it was basically impossible to take care of them well in the beginning, you just can’t do that on tour I don’t think. I wonder if bad healing might be a part of why he doesn’t like them anymore, but I too can see it being a symptom of a time he generally might have bad feelings about.

I have to confess I can’t really relate to why someone would get a tattoo and then regret it, or make simliar decisions. I have very little regret in general and I always find it hard to relate to feeling that way or understand why people go through it. Not in a “How could you” way, I really sympathize, but I have a hard time having an opinion in this because I can’t use anything other than second hand experience. But he does seem to go through these things, I am trying to remember which interview it was where he talks about the candle stunts and how he gets into these things and then in hindsight it turns out to be bad.

All that being said, yes, we shouldn’t assume, but relating to someone and the way they present themselves to us because of something that happened to us isn’t a bad thing, especially when we don’t know them and are aware that we might be projecting. Projecting on strangers doesn’t hurt anyone as long as it stays in the realms of things we keep to ourselves and that don’t actually have any influence on the person in questions life. It’s way less a problem in my opinion than the constant projecting we put on people close to us, that we assume we know so well we forget to actually communicate. “I’m not the only one” can be a very real and valid thing, it’s why representation in general matters in all aspects of life where someone might feel less alone because of it. That’s my opinion at least. I do hope you’re doing better now anon 💜

[shockwavepulsar]

BASICS

AGE: 18 (in game), over 20 (usually mid twenties) in most other verses BIRTHDAY: October 4th GENDER: Woman SEXUALITY: Good question. She doesn’t even know! I would probably classify her as bi/pansexual? She does have a preference for masculinity though. INTROVERT, EXTROVERT, OR OMNIVERT?: Omnivert HEIGHT: 5′8″ BODY TYPE: Slim, athletic, toned  EYES: Deep blue HEALTH: Healthy physically, although she could do with less sodium in her diet. Not so healthy mentally.  MEDICATION: Anti-depressants, occasional sleep aids. TEMPERAMENT: Quistis can be quite kind and easy-going, somewhat of a people-pleaser. However, she also puts her foot down when she’s had enough. She’s strong-willed and will not hesitate to tell people what they’ve done wrong and why, but criticism directed towards herself is not handled very well. She is prone to moodiness and self-doubt.

FAMILY:

FATHER: (Adoptive) A former politician, infertile. Somewhat of a decent man (as far as politicians go), focused on his career and family. He was very kind with Quistis and hoped the adoption would allow him and his wife to have a more normal-appearing family. It only caused their already unstable marriage to unravel further. He tried his best to keep Quistis from the chaos, but after a routine checkup as a part of the adoption contract, it was found that the household was unsuitable for Quistis, and both parties agreed to have her removed and sent to Garden. MOTHER:  (Adoptive) Started out as a reasonable woman, but became enticed by the prospect of having power through her marriage to a politician. When they tried for a child and could not have one, she felt as if it was her fault and that she was broken until tests revealed it was her husband that was infertile. She then began projecting her negative feelings onto him. Now he was broken. She agreed to the adoption, but when she saw how happy Quistis made her husband, it made her feel as if she had no real purpose in the family anymore so she resented her and made her life hell at every turn. Eventually, she became pregnant as a result of an affair, leading her husband to believe it was some kind of miracle and that they could finally have their own child. Until Quistis told him what happened. SIBLINGS: None. PARTNER: None. OFFSPRING: None. PETS: None, though she wouldn’t mind having a dog or cat eventually. 

ADDITIONAL:

SMOKES: No. DRINKS: On occasion, socially. DRUGS:  Marijuana once (on accident), though given its medical uses she would not be opposed. DIET: Very healthy foods, tries her best not to eat anything overly processed. She doesn’t eat much meat and would consider herself pescatarian. She does like seafood quite a lot, but eats it mostly on special occasions or on particularly bad days to cheer herself up. When it comes to flavor, Quistis likes very extreme flavors so things that are bitter or sour or sweet or spicy. She’s not so fond of things like bread for this reason, unless it’s used as a vessel for other flavorful foods (or if it’s a sweet bread). She really likes spicy food. Her tolerance for spice is nearly unmatched.  ALLERGIES/INTOLERANCE: slightly lactose intolerant, though she still eats ice cream occasionally TATTOOS: None. PIERCINGS: Ears pierced once. Almost got her belly button pierced but decided against it (she is very thankful for her hesitation)  JEWELRY: Usually her hair clips can be considered her ‘jewelry’ but she used to wear a necklace with a piece of round seaglass under her cadet uniform. It was given to her by Matron as a gift before she got adopted. When she returned to Garden, she wore it to remember her time before she left, hoping to forget the pain of the two years of her adoption (of course, she forgot it all). The necklace was lost long ago, but she is drawn to jewelry that looks like seaglass when she’s window shopping even though she has yet to make a purchase.  GLASSES/CONTACTS?: After an incident involving her discovery of her blue magic abilities, Quistis’s vision decreased. Laser Eye, if performed incorrectly, can do that to a person. So, she wears contacts when in battle and glasses off the field. Nowadays, she wears contacts most of the time. PERFUME?: Special occasions only. Most of the time, she relies on her soap, shampoo, and deodorant to smell nice. Scents she’s drawn to are mostly fresh and slightly floral, though she does like to have a little bit of a mature spice, wood, or leather once in a while. MISC:

DRIVES?:  Yes, and also pilots if needed. PARTIES?: The parties that Garden holds, including festivals, yes. House parties? .....maaaaybe. WRITES LOVE POETRY?:  No. CELEBRATES BIRTHDAY?: Yes! Although, she likes it to be a bit more low-key. FAVOURITE COLOUR?: Red, coral, peach. SLEEPS?:  Lightly. She’s used to having to be prepared to be alert so she wakes quite easily unless she’s somewhere she knows she’s safe. Then, she sleeps like a rock. When she gets to sleep deeply, she sleeps on her stomach with one leg bent and the other straight, her arms underneath her pillow. If she’s resting, she sleeps on her back with her arms folded over her stomach to be prepared for anything. HAS PLUSHIES? No. MUSIC TASTE?: Easy-listening, jazz, unique sounding vocals, stuff with a good beat. Not so fond of things that are overly complicated, noisy, or involve screaming. She’s not well-versed with music and how it works, so if someone were to have her listen to some classical masterpiece, don’t expect her to know much about it or to particularly care one way or another about it. It’s just music, doesn’t matter who made it and when. READS?:  Historical Fiction, Science-Fiction, Mystery/Thriller/Suspense, Fantasy, Romance. She’ll read just about anything. FONDEST CHILDHOOD MEMORY: She doesn’t remember enough about her childhood to pick out a memory she’d be the fondest of. Honestly, what little bits she remembers of her childhood are haphazardly stitched together in her mind so she wouldn’t be able to separate certain events from others. For all she knows, they could have all happened on the same day or in the same week despite having been at the orphanage for years. SINGS IN SHOWER?: No. Tagged by: @dogof-war Tagging: You! Reading this!

[chromecutie]

Not A Ghost - part 24

A/N - Multi-part fic. Colossus x OC where OC has come home after being wrongfully imprisoned in the Icebox. Warnings for whole fic - references and flashbacks to harsh prison environment, including various types of abuse. Takes place shortly after events in Deadpool 2. Whole thing will end up on my AO3 eventually.

Taglist: @emma-frxst  @ra-ra-rasputiin  @holamor ​  @empressme-bitch  @marvel-is-perfection  @hazilyimagine ​ @marvelhead17 @rovvboat @angstybadboytrash ​ @whitewitchdown ​ @master-sass-blast ​ @mori-fandom @mooleche @dandyqueen @emberbent @leo-writer . Wanna be added or removed? Holla at me.

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

The first time she met the Juggernaut, she had been hiding during a riot. Rhonda had slipped into the sector labeled MAXIMUM SECURITY without realizing, and was hyperventilating against a wall when she heard a deep, booming voice grumble, “Keep it down, will ya, some of us sleep here. Asshole.”

Rhonda jumped away from the wall and out of her skin. The wall was a door--for an enormous cell. Whoever was in it must be huge. And strong. The noise of the riot was still audible from where she was, and she couldn’t make herself go back out there. She tapped the most polite knock-knock she could with one knuckle on the giant metal door, “Who’s in here?”

There was an impatient groan, and she swore she could feel it reverberate through the steel door. “I’m the Juggernaut, bitch!”

“Shit!” Rhonda hissed and backed away a few paces, silent in the prison-issue shoes. 

“Heard of me, huh?” the Juggernaut grunted, his sneer audible.

She thought she might piss herself. “Uh...y-you could say that.” The X-Men had fought him several times, and Rhonda had always counted herself lucky she hadn’t been pulled on those missions, but her husband was always top pick. Colossus was the only one strong enough to give Juggernaut a good run for his money, but they were so evenly matched that she worried he might come home injured or worse.

Years later, she would still wonder what possessed her to do this, but she crept closer to the door again, and saw there was a slot at the bottom for sliding meal trays in and out. Out of her pocket, she pulled the little sealed cup of chocolate pudding--the only thing she had been able to save from her lunch when the riot broke out. Down on all fours, she slid the pudding cup in with her right hand, which was already injured and she figured if she had to choose a hand to risk losing, better her non-dominant hand. Still, she yanked it back as quickly as she could, in case he decided to stomp her.

“Jesus Christ, that the fuck happened to your hand?” 

Rhonda scoffed and glanced down at the scabs where her pinkie used to be less than a week ago. “Welcome wagon my first day,��� she grumbled sardonically. “They heard about my other yellow suit--” she gasped when she realized what she was saying, and who she was telling.

After a thick pause, the Juggernaut started laughing his ass off. “How does one of the X-Men land in the Icebox?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” she muttered. 

The seal on the pudding cup popped, and there was a slurping sound. “So what’s this for?” Juggernaut asked, referring to the pudding.

Rhonda folded her arms tight across her chest and huddled against the Juggernaut’s door. “This is the longest I’ve talked to anyone here without getting stabbed, punched,” she glanced down at her hand, “or dismembered.”

His snicker vibrated through the door, absolutely insidious, “Sweetheart, there’s no tellin’ what I would do to you if it weren’t for this cell.”

The Icebox was chilly, but Rhonda didn’t know the chill could sink deeper into her bones. The collar around her neck felt heavier. “S-still,” she forced herself to say, “Thanks, I guess.”

“Tch,” Juggernaut grunted, and there was a rustling sound. Maybe he was settling to go back to sleep. “You’re not gonna make it a month here, X-Girlie. If you’re lucky, they’ll kill you quick.”

Despite some inmates’ best efforts, Rhonda did make it another month. Then another, and another. She made a point to keep visiting the Juggernaut, if for no other reason than to say she was still kicking. It was safest to visit during riots, and only if those got loud enough for the guards stationed at MaxSec to jump in and get it under control. She usually brought a pudding cup for Juggernaut, sometimes her own, sometimes one she stole from someone else to start the riot in the first place.

Rhonda learned what it took to survive the Icebox. She got smarter about hiding what she wanted to keep, she got better at reading people’s body language, better at guessing who would be a threat and when, better at sneaking around to look for potential escape routes. But above all, survival in the only penitentiary for criminal mutants meant being more brutal than the person attacking you. 

Over time, Juggernaut--his real name was Cain--admitted that most inmates trying to talk to him were trying to enlist his help in this riot or that jailbreak. None of their attempts ever worked, so Cain stayed out of all of them. But Rhonda never asked for anything, and that was confusing and suspicious to him. Sometimes he asked, “Why the hell you talkin’ to me, anyway?”

Rhonda drummed her fingernails on the steel door, “Same as the first time we talked. I kinda like this thing where I can have a conversation without getting stabbed.” She popped the seal of a pudding cup before sliding the cup under Cain’s door (always with her right hand), keeping the foil seal for herself to lick it clean.

“Yeah well,” Cain grunted, “no promises if I ever get outta this box.” Every time he made that threat, he sounded less serious.

Sometimes Rhonda even mocked his voice, imitating him, “No promises, yeah, yeah.” He grunted a short laugh whenever she did that.

Once, Cain asked, “So, girlie, did they give you a codename? The X-Men?”

Rhonda’s heart sank. She had done a few stints in solitary, and been knocked unconscious a few times. It made her completely lose track of how long she had been in the Icebox, and eventually she gave up counting. She never stopped thinking about how to escape, but plenty of times, it felt like she would never get back to her family. “Voltage,” she replied and explained, “I wanted to be Amps, or Amperage, because, you know, it’s the amps that can be fatal. But Scott didn’t want to hear it. He said Voltage was flashier and didn’t take a lot of explaining--”

“Who’s Scott?”

“Oh...Cyclops. Laser eyes. Big visor.”

“Ah, yeah,” Cain recognized the description. “Yeah, he sounds like a prick.”

She couldn’t help but laugh, “He really is!”

More time went by. Rhonda wasn’t sure anymore if she was getting better at living in the Icebox. She was in fights almost every single day. It seemed like she won as many as she lost, but she was still alive. Alive, but everything weighed on her more than it used to. Scars and tattoos started piling up on her skin--all of them against her will, except for the teardrops on her cheek. Those had earned her a break from getting attacked by anyone not brave enough to take on a known killer. She scratched at her neck under the collar a lot, and there were always scabs and calluses. She barely recognized herself in the mirror anymore, and not just because of the hollows under her eyes and cheeks.

Still, she visited Cain. She wondered if he could tell she was flagging when he asked her about home. 

“You got somebody waiting? When you get out, I mean.”

“Yeah,” she sighed, “My husband.”

“Don’t tell me he’s the hairy one with the claws,” Cain grumbled.

“Logan? Hell no,” she chuckled, “He’s too--no. Just no.” She absently picked at some scabs. “My husband is...very tall. Exceptionally strong. Exceptionally sweet, when he's not kicking your ass.”

Cain groaned, “Ohhhh, of fuckin’ course. You’re married to the commie?”

“He’s not a communist,” Rhonda retorted, wincing when she aggravated her sore neck. “And yes...I just hope he’s okay right now.”

“So, uh, no offense, but you sound pretty shrimpy." Cain mumbled something Rhonda couldn't make out before he spoke up again, "When you, uh...with him...how does that work?"

Ronda paused, then rolled her eyes. "You looking for something nice to think about later?"

“Commaahhhn,” he tried to play it cool, “Isn’t everyone?”

She realized she was smiling--really smiling, not just baring her teeth. “He’s not always eight feet of chrome, you know that? He’s got dark hair, and some of the clearest blue eyes I’ve ever seen.” Rhonda rested her head against Cain’s cell door. “His dimples just kill me. He takes his time, doesn’t rush anything,” she mused. “He does a lot with his hands…” she tried to remember exactly what it felt like, and tried not to be horrified that the details were fuzzy. “And...oh god, his mouth when he--”

“A’right, a’right,” Cain whined, “Forget I asked. I still gotta fight him if I ever see him again, not...think about his mouth.” He grunted his disgust. “Now I just wanna high-five him.”

“High-five him?” Rhonda’s voice sank back into the snarl she usually spoke with these days. “For what?”

Cain grumbled, “He found somebody. That ain’t easy for the big freaks like us.” She heard some rustling and two big thumps--Cain took off his boots. Why did he even put them on if he never left his cell? “And if he married you...you’re probably all right.”

“You don’t know that.” Rhonda scratched around her collar again and got to her feet.

“I know you don’t belong in this shitbox,” he said softly--softly for Cain.

“I sure as hell didn’t used to,” she started to shuffle away. “I gotta get going before the guards catch me here and hit me with that cattle prod again. Later, Cain.”

“Try not to get murdered,” he called lazily after her. He would never say it out loud, but he knew he’d be sad if he heard about her getting killed.

That was the last time Rhonda visited before a stranger with a massive gun had shown up and caused enough damage to the Icebox that the inmates had to be loaded up for a transfer. After the transfer convoy got destroyed was the first time Rhonda and Cain spoke without a thick steel door separating them.

[mysticmikalla]

Time’s Tracing

I’m so, SO excited to share with you guys my full piece for @saeranzine !! Being part of this project was such an honor, I met so many great people and learned so many things. I’ll never forget how close we got, all the inside jokes, Fluff’s riddles, Paulina’s brothers, Saeyonic, Shrekran and, of course, SO much budget elixir! Honestly, thank you mods for organizing this amazing project and thank you to all the contributors who helped make it a big family! 

But anyway, without further ado, here’s the actual fic😅I hope you like it!

***

Saeran had always tried to pay attention to people’s eyes. It was an old saying he had heard once, that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and he always made sure to observe them when someone spoke. Those glassy surfaces could unravel intentions, contradicting lying lips and baring themselves true. They told stories better than words ever could.

But as he held your hand in his, tracing all the lines and details he’d come to know so well, he couldn’t help but think the saying to be untrue. Your eyes were closed now, but he could still read you through the palm of your hand as if it were his favorite book.  A thousand times he had done this, and a thousand different details and buried memories he’d discovered.

“We’ll find him.” You sat beside him as his fingers furiously typed, eyes glued to the screen as if afraid that even a blink might make him miss a crucial detail. “I can see how worried you are.”

He stopped typing, leaning back against his chair and closing his eyes, his mind barely being able to keep up with itself. The familiar black and green of the screen now had critical roles in not only his life, but yours and that of his own brother’s. He couldn’t recall the last time his twin occupied his mind with worried thoughts instead of venomous ones.

“It feels strange,” He admitted after a long moment of trying to string his thoughts together. “Not even a day ago I could barely even say his name, and now…” He looked down at his hands, remembering how much smaller they were last time they held Saeyoung’s, “Now he’s all I can think about.”

“We’ll find him.” You repeated, attempting to give him a warm smile even though his eyes were fixated on his hands.

“I couldn’t find him before.” He pointed out, a frown shadowing his features.

Reaching for his hands, you admired how much larger and slender they were compared to yours as you cupped them, “But you’re not alone now. You’ve got me, you’ve got us.”

His eyes darted from your joined hands to your eyes. He wondered if Ray had felt the same rising warmth and almost childlike wonder as you ran your thumb over his knuckle. He wondered if anyone had ever felt the way he was feeling right now, something too great for flower breeds or syllables to ever convey.

“You are not alone, Saeran.”

It had quite possibly been one of the most stressful nights of Saeran’s life up until then. Not the hellish nights he spent with his mother nor the painful hours the elixir spent destroying his body from the inside even came close to how he felt trying to protect you and locate his missing brother. But, he realized, it would have truly been a nightmare without you there, constantly by his side and reminding him time and time again of those five words.

He ran his hand along your wrist, softly as if not trying to wake you up. He stopped at the base of your thumb, where black ink contrasted against your pale skin in the shape of a small sun. His lips tugged upwards as he remembered how hard you squeezed his hand as the needle met your skin, your eyes screwed shut.

The pain erupting from the base of your thumb meant that it was now too late to back out. You had never really wanted a tattoo before, fear of regretting it later being greater than your desire to get one. But something about having a reminder of this day, the first trip you took together, made you doubt any sort of future regrets. The memory of how his eyes lit up when he saw the waves gently bathing the shore, his toes wiggling and burying themselves in the sand was something you wanted imprinted on your skin forever.

“It feels so permanent.” You commented, bringing your newly inked skin closer to your eyes so you could examine it. Saeran glanced at it as well, getting used to yet another new detail of you.

Permanent. It had been a word so foreign to him, he often wondered what it meant. It had been thrown around a lot in his life, but nothing had been, nothing had ever felt eternal. Nothing had actually felt like forever to him. He knew that the world was an ever-changing place, promises of forever meaning nothing since nobody could predict the future. The Sun would eventually swallow the Earth and the Universe would collapse in itself, so nothing was truly everlasting.  Not the company of his brother, not the Paradise he once believed to be eternal and not the tattoo that once poisoned his skin as a cruel reminder of his past mistakes. Hell, not even his own hair color stayed the same.

But looking at you lying next to him, specks of sand dotting your chocolate hair and eyes now amber with the rays of sunset, he began to understand.

“That’s why they call it a permanent tattoo.” He remarked with a grin on his lips.

You gave him a soft chuckle, nudging his side with your elbow, “I know that.”

You turned to lie on your side, facing him. Bringing up your hand to caress his arms, you wondered out loud whether he had felt the same about his own tattoo. The laser had gotten rid of most of the black swirls and lines on his skin, but you could still tell it had once been there. To him, the marks that were just a tone lighter than the rest of him were nothing but a bitter reminder of his mistakes, of the painful past he tried daily to forget.

But to you, it was a sign of progression, how far he had gotten and how much he was able to overcome.

“I don’t think I gave it much thought,” he admitted, brushing a few strands of hair from your eyes, then resting his hand on your cheek, “Nothing felt real back then… it was as if there was no consequence to what I did.”

Your fingers continued to trace the white lines, all the way up to his shoulder, mesmerized by how soft his skin felt under the pads of your thumb, despite everything he had been through.

“It’s ugly, isn’t it?” He murmured, gaze falling from your eyes to the sandy ground you two were lying upon.

Frowning, you gave his arm a slight squeeze, “Nothing about you is ugly, Sae.”

The scar was barely visible now, but his eyes still darted straight over to it whenever he stood in front of a mirror. The phantom feeling of your hands caressing it from the sudden memory made him squeeze your palm tighter.

He wasn’t the only one with a scar.

There was a small patch of skin along the palm of your hand which contrasted with the rest. He couldn’t recall what the fight had been about, but the harsh words exchanged and spilt tears were imprinted on his mind.

“You know what, just forget it,” You huffed, turning away from him to make your way towards the door, “Just forget it.”

He grabbed your wrist, a frantic attempt to keep you from getting further away, “I can’t just forget it, MC. Tell me what you meant by that. Tell me what you meant by ‘taking a break’.”

“I meant exactly what it sounds like.” You spat, forcefully removing your wrist from his touch. It had been the first time you two had ever shared such barbed words, and your rejection stung him more than he could have imagined.

Desperation overcame him, his vision blurring as he watched you pick up a small bag and head towards the door. You couldn’t leave him, not you. Not when everyone is his life had already done so. The contracting of his chest was painfully familiar, although he hadn’t felt it ever since meeting you. Was he cursed to live with a heavy heart whenever you weren’t around?

It was all so sudden. One moment he wordlessly watched you walk away, and the next you were crouching down beside him, the shards of glass he had apparently broken seconds before looking uncannily like how his heart felt.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” despite the anger you previously felt towards your boyfriend, you managed to smile, “It was an accident, it’s fine. I’ll clean this up, okay?”

He remembered the oozing of red from your hand as if it had happened just yesterday. Saeran blamed himself harshly for the deep cut in your hand, the scar that remained across your skin even years later screamed at him that it was his fault. Your soothing words helped him realize that it was an accident, that it could have happened with anyone, but he couldn’t get over the fact that it was him who lost control and knocked over the vase in a fit of rage. Had you been with anyone else, this would never have happened, and it was a mystery to Saeran how you had agreed to spend the rest of your life with someone who couldn’t even keep his temper under control.

Although, by your wedding day, Saeran hardly had any traces of his malicious past left in him. He played with the ring on your finger, turning it until the words engraved on it faced him, Hey, there.

He was beyond nervous as he stared at his reflection, fiddling with his tie while trying to get it straight. Despite the reassuring words from his friends, the cramped knot in his stomach made him doubt he’d ever eat again. Were you going to notice how sweaty his hands were? What if he said the wrong thing? He wondered, was there even a right thing to say?

But upon taking in the sight of you at the end of the aisle, his feet subconsciously taking him towards the girl in the dazzling white gown, Saeran forgot all his worries and even his own damn name. For the first time, the many eyes of the spectators didn’t matter to him.

The walk to you felt eternal but all the same, he forgot himself and when he came to, he was already standing in front of you. You gazed at him up and down, taking in how breathtakingly beautiful he was. You couldn’t tell how long it had been until one of you broke the silence, and unsure of what to say, Saeran breathed, “Hey, there’.

A smile stretched on your lips, “Hey, there.”

While he cursed himself for weeks after saying such ridiculous and meaningless first words as your husband, you thought it was endearing.

“Don’t worry,” You assured him, “First words don’t really matter. Last words, though...I wonder what mine will be.”

“I don’t ever want to think about that.” He shuttered off the thought, thinking of how long you two had and how many words were still  left to be shared.

Had you known back then?

Saeran wondered if your words back then were some sort of omen, a dark prediction of the painfully near future.

Had you known that you were sick when you spoke those words?

He had forgotten to pay attention to your last words, always hoping that there would be more to leave your lips. But as your heartbeat staled and your pulse weakened, his hoping came to an agonizing end, the doctors had said as much. The skin of your hand he adored so much was now impaled with tubes, and when he squeezed your hand, you didn’t squeeze back.

“Hey, there.” He mumbled, hopelessly hoping that your eyes would flutter open, at least just once more so he could say goodbye. Just once more so his heart could be at ease, even for just a few moments before it was completely torn apart. But when the last sigh escaped your lips, your hand going limp in his and the beeping of the machine stilling, the memories you two shared would now only be remembered by him, the feeling of mutual love now solely felt by him.

He had never believed in souls, but now it felt as if half of his was ripped away, and Saeran had never felt pain greater than this.

[katiebmace]

How Long After a Tattoo Can you Tan?

How Long After a Tattoo Can you Tan?

As someone intimately familiar with body modification, it’s no wonder you want to know how long after a tattoo can you tan. After all, tattoos spew extra ink, plasma, and gunk out for the first few days of healing. To top it off, once that’s done, it constantly peels and itches as if it received a horrible sunburn. Naturally, tanning seems like a strange thing to combine with a healing tattoo, but I know a few ways to play your cards right. Use this little guide to learn about the hazards of tanning with a tattoo, how to prevent them, and even how to keep your tattoo looking awesome for your entire life! For more general information—including how to heal your tattoo faster—our other guide may work better for you.

  Tattoos can fade when exposed to the sun! Make sure you protect your skin and especially your ink when you enjoy the great days outside. Below is our favorite tattoo sunscreen product. Read our full reviews here!

H2Ocean SPF 45 Sea Life Sunscreen

H2Ocean has made it’s way to one of the top brands in the Tattoo Aftercare industry. Recommended by artists and users and the best tattoo sunscreen you can get. It does it’s job and it comes with a moderate price.

Buy on Amazon

  New Tattoos and Sunlight

Can you put sunscreen on a new tattoo? Whenever you deal with any sort of wound—especially large and deep ones like a tattoo—your skin damage prevents any protection from the sun. Your skin exists to block out harmful UV rays and fierce sunlight, so when you take that away, you end up with colossal burns whenever you soak up the sun. With that said, let’s add tanning to the formula. Tanning in the sun causes the exact same sort of damage a sunburn would, except much faster. With tanning booths, it induces the same type of effect in your skin, and poses the same risk.

But wait, that’s not all! Tanning creates unique conditions for your tattoo ink. You know about laser tattoo removal, the miracle treatment that zaps tattoos away, right? Well, it works because high concentrations of light pierce through the skin and break down the ink molecules. At smaller sizes, the immune system disposes of the ink properly, and the tattoo disappears. With sunlight, it uses the exact same type of light—just at lower concentrations. When you remove the only thing protecting your body from a sun burn—your skin—you end up with a very faded tattoo and horrible burn. We provide detailed information on this and other risks during tattoo healing in our full guide. 

  How to Use a Tanning Bed After a Tattoo

Okay, we know about how light and tattoos interact. So, how long after getting a tattoo can you fake tan? And can you tan with a new tattoo if you cover it? Let’s start with the basics. In order to tan at all, you need proper protection. Two different ways exist to keep your tattoo and body safe during a tan. I go over them both here.

First, directly covering a tattoo with some sort of cloth will keep it perfectly safe. Since not all fabric blocks UVB and UVA, I recommend applying sunscreen to the cloth itself. Make sure none of it goes onto your tattoo, as that would damage your ink and potentially cause illness for you. And yes, I promise putting sunscreen on top of clothing works. Just don’t do it on a regular basis.

  The second method involves the use of tattoo-safe tanning lotion or sunscreen product. For tattoo tanning lotions, they provide nutrients for your skin that keep it nice and healthy. It also provides protection from a broad range of light—not just the ones we use to tan. Tattoo sunscreen, on the other hand, uses safe ingredients for consistent use on your tattoo. I recommend covering the area of your tattoo with as much precision as you can muster, unless you like a swath of light skin around your tattoo. Unfortunately, tattoos and suntan lotions never get along at the early stages of tattoo healing.

  When Can I Expose my Tattoo to the Sun?

When can I put sunscreen on a new tattoo? Okay, nobody likes covering up their tattoo, but a lady’s gotta tan. So, when can you wear that tattoo with pride? Or, if that wait turns out to be too long, when can you use sunscreen? Your tattoo takes a while to heal, obviously. For the first stage of healing, you need to use special soaps to keep it constantly clean and dry without using too much water or clogging it up. It bleeds, oozes, and generally makes a mess of everything. Tanning during this time instantly ruins your tattoo and hurts like hell. No matter what, wait until after this stage.

During stage two, things slow down and your skin starts healing properly. Congratulations, with skin in place, you can finally tan! Well, if you’re alright with a poorly healed and faded tattoo. The skin barely forms a layer over the tattoo. Light takes a little extra time to burn it, but tanning still treats your skin too harshly. At this point, you already use moisturizers on your skin to keep flaking at bay and itchiness down. Once your skin stops ‘absorbing’ your thin treatments, it contains enough moisture to stand up to tanning. This page goes over some tattoo-safe tanning lotions and sunscreens. Nonetheless, I recommend waiting between six weeks to two months to start tanning.

  Tattoo Tanning FAQ

I bet some little questions still haunt your mind, and I will try my best to answer them! If you see a missing question, go ahead and leave us a comment. We respond to all questions very quickly, I promise!

How long after getting a tattoo can you go swimming?

It takes exactly as long as it does to wait for a tan. Your healing tattoo opens your body up to all sorts of germs. With modern medicine and hygienic technology, we sometimes forget that improper care still poses the greatest risk to tattooing.

What happens to tattoos when I get a tan?

Your tattoo invariably fades with tanning. Not dramatically, of course, but enough to notice after a few years. The sun represents the greatest enemy of tattoos, so spending extra time in sunlight (or simulated sunlight) leads to advanced aging. I recommend frequent touch ups to keep it looking nice, or you could simply try some tattoo tanning lotion.

  Tattoos and Tanning in Harmony

Ultimately, your tattoo sticks with you for life. Wearing it involves exercising responsibility over your body. The best way to keep your skin safe is to use sunscreen. New tattoo or not, tanning or going pale, your skin benefits greatly from sunscreen. It protects against sunburns, skin cancer, and fading tattoos. Why go without? Anyways, hopefully this helped you learn about the limits of tanning and tattoos. Any responsible person can combine the two harmoniously, as long as you wait a bit after a new tattoo! For more information on tattoo healing, check out our awesome guide on all things tattoo care!

Sara

InkDoneRight

Tattoos can fade when exposed to the sun! Make sure you protect your skin and especially your ink when you enjoy the great days outside. Below is our favorite tattoo sunscreen product. Read our full reviews here!

H2Ocean SPF 45 Sea Life Sunscreen

H2Ocean has made it’s way to one of the top brands in the Tattoo Aftercare industry. Recommended by artists and users and the best tattoo sunscreen you can get. It does it’s job and it comes with a moderate price.

Buy on Amazon

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