is it weird that breaking my leg didn't initially hurt?
it just felt like a shocking impact (similar to a soccer ball hitting you in the face), but then it was fine. like I couldn't walk on it, but I wasn't super bothered until maybe 5 minutes later, and then it was like WOW there's something wrong here!
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my simon riley brain rot is so intense that i put on lip gloss today and i immediately thought of bimbo!reader and simon and her leaving sparkly lip gloss kisses all over simon's face AHHHHH, anyways thank u for blessing us with that series
aww thats so cute 🥹🫶🏼 and omg thank you so much for liking the mini-series!! writing it made me happy for a while and im glad to have been able to share it w you all <33 that said my finger slipped and—
thinkin about doing that pop-pop-pop lip-smacking finish after applying a lipgloss. simon hears that and already knows the drill—phone down, eyes up, and watch as you wrap up with your makeup—and huffs a quiet laugh, fond and achingly soft, when he sees you staring at your reflection while using your acrylics to meticulously swipe at the excess gloss on the corner of your mouth.
you’re adorable, that’s all. just humming to yourself every session, happy to blend away from reality as you get sucked into the beat of your music while laser-focused eyes keep flicking between your makeup bag and your face. he can watch you all day long—and he has, but you noticed him so soon and gave him a shy little giggle.
“not yet!” you whined, hiding behind your palms like simon isn’t a man blessed with a beautiful darling. “look ‘way!”
he did so with another endeared puff of his breaths, and from then on, learned to just rely on the sounds. the tells; the way your quiet hum echoes with the final zip of your makeup bag, giving him just enough time to calm the excitement in his stomach because, and you don’t even know this, simon loves nothing more than to feel your own giddiness resonate as you bounce towards him.
it isn’t any different today—you clamber to him with a giggle, and simon easily pulls you on his lap, his eyes crinkled in his delight.
“y’done, sweetheart?” he asks even when it’s the obvious.
“yup!” you reply, annunciating every letter. you cup his jaw with two hands, soft and flower-scented palms gently cradling his face. “can i kiss you?”
“y’don’t have to ask, love,” he croons and smiles at your excited squeal.
peppering kisses descend on his face, every drag of your lips leaving a sticky sensation but he doesn’t mind them one bit. he will proceed to wear the lipstick stains with pride because god, everyone needs to know how lucky he is to be loved so dearly by you.
the last kiss is a chaste peck on his lips. you pull back but simon whines in disapproval.
“one more,” he grunts, breathing the words directly on your mouth. “i’ve been so patient so i need one more.”
his words tickle a sweet laugh from you. it rings, like chimes and twinkles, before giving him a nod then soft lips meet his again.
simon basks in your warmth, feeling so full of unbridled joy.
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I hate myself.
I hate my face.
I hate my eyes.
I hate my ears.
I hate my nose.
I hate my mouth.
I hate my lips.
I hate my hair.
I hate my neck.
I hate my shoulders.
I hate my chest.
I hate my back.
I hate my belly.
I hate my hips.
I hate my arms.
I hate my hands.
I hate my fingers.
I hate my skin.
I hate my crotch.
I hate my thighs.
I hate my knees.
I hate my legs.
I hate my feet.
I hate my ankles.
I hate my toes.
I hate my smile.
I hate my laugh.
I hate my scars.
I hate my stretch marks.
I hate my bones.
I hate my body hair.
I hate my voice.
I hate my mind.
I hate my thoughts.
I hate my dysphoria.
I hate my depression.
I hate my anxiety.
I hate my eating disorders.
I hate my trauma.
I hate my nightmares.
I hate my past.
I hate my memories.
I hate my childhood.
I hate my adolescence.
I hate my adulthood.
I hate my existence.
I hate my life.
I just hate every single thing about myself so fucking much...
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invisible scars (referenced previous talk here)
[ID: A colourless, digital Trigun comic of Vash and Wolfwood talking about Wolfwood's scars. They're both laying in bed and topless. Vash lays on top of Wolfwood, playing with the rosary around his neck. Then, Vash kisses a spot on Wolfwood's chest. Wolfwood asks, "What are you doing?" Vash smiles sadly, "You got shot here. In the last town we visited. You didn't even bother moving."
Vash props himself up over Wolfwood, who frowns slightly. Wolfwood is quiet for a moment before he says, "You remember that, huh?" Vash grabs Wolfwood's left wrist and brings it to his face. "And here." He kisses another spot there. "When you helped free the hostages from that robber..." Wolfwood dismissively says, looking away, "Was a lucky shot." Vash huffs, “Don’t brag. Jeez.”
Half of Wolfwood's expression is shown, eyes returning to Vash who is now sitting up, continuing to say, "And..." Vash goes on and kiss Wolfwood's right palm. "You got cut here, even though that girl was aiming at me." A moment from the past flashes, of Wolfwood grabbing a knife aimed at Vash, his hand bleeding.
At present, Vash moves down and puts another kiss on Wolfwood's right shoulder. "And here, from watching my back." Another memory flashes of Wolfwood and Vash back to back. Vash looks back as Wolfwood grins while holding Punisher, bleeding from multiple gunshots in his shoulder.
"And," Vash combs up Wolfwood's hair to reveal his forehead, "Here." A final memory shows Wolfwood with a regeneration vial in his mouth while getting shot on his temple. The next panel is framed in blood with Vash at the center, eyes wide and stunned in horror. The next panel is a closed up shot of Wolfwood's eye, locked on Vash's face.
Back to present, Vash’s head is bowed down as Wolfwood raises a hand to his nape and says, “Spikey.”
Wolfwood looks serious and frowns as he says, "We talked about this. Those were my decisions. They're not there anymore. Forget about them." Vash looks very sad before he smiles ruefully and says, "I still see them. All the time." He leans down so they touch foreheads. Wolfwood’s sorrowful expression can be seen as Vash says, "You protect so much. I could never forget what you've done to me. And many others..."
In the last image, they're drawn more cartoonishly. Wolfwood sweats and asks, "You don't actually remember every wound, right?" Vash points at a spot on his chest. "Kuroneko left a scratch here 7 times." Wolfwood, startled, says, "Why the hell are you keeping count—" End ID]
Credits for ID here and here
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