#tw hand trauma

[47crows]

Bleeding all by yourself, handsome?

[comikbook]

The Eyes of God, 2023, Digital Painting by myself, Liz Pence

[star-anise]

I really wonder if trauma theorists who say things like "Humans are the only animal that will be in a fright state when physically safe" or "the rest of the animal kingdom doesn't get PTSD" have ever, like

Do you think they've actually ever met an animal?

[gorjee-art]

he's just...built so differently

Wait, is Charlie a Frankenstein now!??!

I've missed out on the lore...

Oh! That, haha, to be fair Charlie's always been a sort of "Frankenstein's Monster" I just wanted to visualize that better with some stitches and gnarly looking staples. I mean...boy's got metallic bones in him and can put himself back together, nothing more Frankenstein than that!

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [Part 2] [PART 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Don’t Let it Reach the Heart]

Finally! Part 3 is here!! yippee!!! As a refresher, this takes place at the beginning of season 9, when Doc and Xisuma try to boot Etho back up after he shuts down pre-Season 8 Finale, set to the vibes of Joywave’s Destruction from DBHC Etho’s playlist! Ouguguh I’ve been looking forward to posting this part so much; it has some of my favorite shots so far… something about the grey-fade of Doc going into shock, something about the last two pages with xisuma and doc’s expressions… idk!! i really loved working on these :] Hope you’re enjoying the horrific, horrific ride!! =w=

As a partially insignificant but Special-To-Me note: Xisuma has always referred to dbhc doc as “Docm”— this is actually the first time X ever calls him “Doc.”

[chirrups]

here is my au piece for 2024 @mcytblraufest! simple premise is that PET are infected but asymptomatic carriers of the zombie virus and find purpose in doing what uninfected people can't safely, delivering mail!

PLEASE for the love of god, check out the fic for this piece written by @theminecraftbee and betaed by @aistandardcherry. it's so well written and i will be rotating it in my mind for forever

[dorkfruit]

tiffany is a hater

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[scificrows]

i like to make fun of murderbot for being all "i hate everyone, i don't care about anything or anyone, fuck off" while simultaneously caring very much about the people around it and the situations it finds itself in. i love how it "accidentally" ends up caring quite a lot about the friends it makes along the way. but i think something that i tend to forget is that murderbot actively decides to care - at least at some point in its story.

idk, as a person that struggles with depression, this paragraph from artificial condition really resonates with me. prior to all systems red, murderbot had contracts. it had routine and it had protocols. it knew what it had to do to just get by, how to perform so no one would notice it had disabled its governor module. it was deeply depressed, yes, but it was functioning (for lack of a better word). in artificial condition, murderbot's routine is gone. it cannot go on in that state of numbly going-from-contract-to-contract, putting in as little effort as possible, consuming media to cope. that option is gone because it escaped (and note that escaping the company was not an active choice, it kinda happened to it). murderbot has two options now: it can either gather all its energy; actively do something new and difficult and distressing; change something in its life and try. or it can let the numbness and the emptiness take over and stop trying. if murderbot wants to survive as a rogue secunit, it has to try. no matter how difficult that is. the wording in that paragraph really hits home for me. the way the non-caring sees an opportunity to slip in and to take over. does murderbot even care? does anything really matter? is anything really worth the hassle? wouldn't it be so much easier to just let your mind slip away a little, to go numb, to be passive, to watch media and wait for things to happen to you? wouldn't it be nice to stop thinking and struggling and feeling complicated things? to stop making an effort? you've been dealing with a lot lately and maybe it's time to just shut down. maybe you'll just take a little break. just slip deeper into this chair and start the show. time flies when you're not paying attention. trying is exhausting. who cares if you don't do the things you wanted to do, you were supposed to do. it'll be fine. let's just ignore those things for now. just let the non-caring take over. just stop thinking. you can deal with the aftermath later. just watch your shows. who cares. but murderbot cares. it decides to care. it decides to fight with all it has and i think that is so brave. and i think in the later books caring is less of an active decision for murderbot. once you start caring, it's easier to keep going than to stop; and murderbot, for all its "i'm a grumpy rogue secunit, leave me alone" behavior, knows just how important caring is. so it's not that it doesn't know what's happening; rather, it lets itself care. tl;dr: caring is not the default for murderbot, it's just the more difficult of two options. and it decides not to take the soft option. it decides to struggle. it decides to care. and so it does.

[philonob]

Takes you by your hand 😳

[raileurta]

Thinking about a Miko getting enlarged to Cybertronian size and going feral protecting her dad Bulkhead.

Massive ⚠️ TW ⚠️dog this gets dark fast. (There is fluff at the end though)

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Miko ran as fast as her legs could carry her; she had to find Bulkhead! They'd been separated when she had to flee a decepticon soldier; who she'd thankfully managed to lose in the bad weather.

Speaking of weather, the dark clouds above the human pelted her skin with their harsh cold rains. The sky continued to roar above her as she kept running. The wet terran making every step that much more difficult. She had fallen many times already evident by the mud on the girl's clothes.

Her lungs hurchled painfully in the girl's chest, begging for her to slow down but she refused. Even with her new found cybertronian height from that size gun Miko was hit with she still had lots of ground to cover.

She continued to rush feverishly.

Leaning herself against a mountain for a temporary break she tried to listen out for her friend. It was hard to hear over the noise of the storm but Miko heard a familiar yell. Bulkhead she exclaimed in her head! Rushing towards the sound with newfound energy she couldn't wait to see him. When she came to a destroyed clearing she was met with a harrowing sight.

A severely damaged Bulkhead with his legs cut off was facing the business end of Megatron's arm cannon. Miko didn't even need to think about it before she jumped in front of her friend to protect him. The human reached up in height to the halfway point of the bot’s chest.

Megatron, obviously not aspecting her, was surprised at the child’s stupid decision.

“If you want to hurt Bulkhead you'll have to go through me!” Miko declared in a yell.

“Haha, brave human, stupid but brave. Even at your current size you have no hope of defeating me. So do us both a favor and just leave with your life intact.”

Miko didn't move. She just grit her teeth more and stared up at him in defiance.

“I hope you wouldn't be smart enough to take me up on my offer.”

Megatron powered up his cannon to shoot the human girl and Miko lunged for him. Moving out of the way of the blast she jumped onto him then began to try to punch the Decepticon leader. Megatron clamored to get Miko off of him. He managed to grab her left arm and throw her off of him. He hurled Miko angrily into some nearby trees, breaking them from the impact. Painfully she got up into her knees. Shaking off the bruising pain Miko felt she began to run to Megatron again.

He activated a thin long sword on his right arm. Megatron wanted to cut this human down to size the overlord thought. He ran towards Miko himself and attempted to slice her in half, seeing what he wanted to do, she swiftly rolled out of the way of his blade. Changing directions Megatron swang right for the girl but she dogged again. Sure Megatron was far more experienced than her and was stronger but Miko was much more agile and unpredictable.

Dunking under another strike Miko attempted to close the distance again; Megatron expecting this made a faint for her side as she dogged the mech he grabbed the girl's arm, crushing it instantly in his grip. Miko let out a shrill shriek as she felt the agony of her now ruined arm. Yanking the limb away as soon as Megatron released her, she backed away. The evil overlord let out a cruel chuckle, delighting in seeing the pain he had caused. Looking down to see her left arm, a section of it was mangled beyond repair having been crushed into a bloody pulp below the elbow leaving only the hand, a bit of wrist intact, gushing out lots of blood. Well there's no fixing that Miko thought hysterically. Slapping her face with her good hand she tried to get herself together. Okay she had to stop the bleeding or she was going to pass out she thought. Yanking off her shirt with the custom alien she painted on it she used her teeth to rip out a strip. She thanked whatever God was watching that June taught her how to do this. Tying the improvised tourniquet in a tight tug Miko looked over to Megatron to see him staring at her with amusement. Of course the bastard found this funny. Turning his gaze to the horrified Bulkhead he sent her another evil glare as he walked over to him, slowly. This was definitely a trap or something but the girl didn't care.

She sprinted towards him.

As soon as she was in range Megatron turned towards her and swung his sword again. She slipped down into a slide, the wet dirt making it an easy glide as she moved under the parting in his legs. Miko jumped up and put herself between the Decepticon leader and Bulkhead again. Not seeming surprised he brandished his sword and walked towards her. Miko couldn't keep dodging forever and eventually the adrenaline was going to wear off, as another throb of pain traveled up her arm she got an idea; it was a horrible idea but it was the only one she had. Taking any leftover remnants of her only just hanging shirt she bunched the fabric in her mouth. She then grabbed her left hand and began to yank, it was barely hanging on the damaged flesh with all the bones in it turned to paste it shouldn't be too difficult to get it off. It wasn't but the pain Miko felt was beyond excruciating; she had never felt something so painful in all her life. As the skin, muscles, fat torn in wet squelches she yelled. When it finally came off it sprayed a wave of blood onto Megatron's face. Full of disgust for the organic filth on him he wiped at his face frantically trying to get it off of him. Seeing her opportunity she dashed towards him; Megatron took away his hands to see Miko charging at him with her broken hand. She jumped at the overlord once more ramming the bone part into his right optic. She doesn't know what they're made of but assuming they're more vulnerable like most eyes in people she thought they would be more easily damaged. As she made the move to stab the other optic out a sharp pain radiated through her abdomen, she slowly looked down to see Megatron's sword piercing right through her.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Bulkhead watched as Miko was stabbed through, he let out a sorrowful cry at seeing his charge being killed. What a useless guardian he was, he thought to himself. His charged hanged limply on Megatron’s sword the only her hair was moving now in the harsh winds.

As the warm blood ran into his servo Megatron brought up Miko to his face.

“I must admit you surprised me little girl. You're much more of a threat than I gave you credit for. But in the end it doesn't matter, you are still just only a

weak

pathetic

human.”

As Megatron finished his gloating Miko suddenly snapped her closed eyes open and used her good arm to pull Megatron's helm back to expose his neck’s fuel lines and bit into them viciously. She tore them out, biting and ripping everything she could get her mouth on. Even as the energon burned her face she didn't stop, not for a second. It was like she was a simple minded wild animal. Megatron tried to shake her off but she had a firm grip on his helm. He retracted the sword on his arm to use his sevos to pull her away.

The nauseating sound of tearing energon wires rang out, seemingly defining the storm in comparison. Now with her mouth dislodged she made attempts to grab at the mech’s bleeding neck. She barely got close before Megatron threw her at Bulkhead. The autobot quickly catched her new large form. Stumbling up in a slumped position akin to a broken doll she bared her teeth at him, and holy Primus fragging growled at Megatron. The sound Miko made was one he knew was going to haunt his recharge for months. It was guttlier thing, full of pain, blood, and pure animalistic anger. Unprompted the memory of something he saw a few human weeks ago surfaced in his processor.

One day while he was waiting for Miko to get out of school he had saw a carrier cat with her kitten in it, both being chased by a pack of starved dogs he thinks that they were called. It eventually was cornered between the dogs and a concrete wall. The Carrier dropped the cat sparkling and put herself between them and her spawn. The fight between the organics was slow as it was gruesome to witness. The dogs would snap at the cat trying to crush her windpipe in their maws, she would fruitlessly claw at them trying to keep them away from her sparkling. Near the end the cat was severely injured and slowly bleeding to death but she continued to fight on. The bell rang out shockingly both the animals and him. Finally, seeming to deem it not worth it anymore the dogs fled. Once the animals were out of the cat's sight she knelt down to check on her sparkling. Sniffing it lightly, once she knew it was safe the cat collapsed onto the pavement. Bulkhead scanned the creature as he feared it was dead. Once the students started to pour some noticed the aftermath. They went to the cat's side to check it was alive. He overheard their sadness and confusion chatter about the cat. One student quickly got the others' attention; They were holding the cat's sparkling. It was so small and scared in their gentle grasp but most importantly it was safe. Their talk quickly turned to getting the “kitten” as they were calling it at a safe place. He was abruptly pulled out of his overhearing when Miko pulled open his passenger side. She began talking about her “boring” day and whatever new gossip she had heard. Bulkhead had tried to respond the best he could but his processor was still focused on what he saw. While the wrecker knew next to nothing about organics he thinks that if the carrier cat was somewhere in the humans “heaven” she was up there happily with no regret.

Flash.

The loud boom of the storm pulling him back to reality. He looked towards the Decepticon as lightning flashed, and whatever Megatron had seen on Miko’s face Bulkhead could tell had chilled him to his very spark.

Multitude of emotions cycled through the bot's face plate he couldn't decipher before settling on an unreadable neutral expression. Megatron gave Miko a stiff nod and he then turned into his alt mode then simply left; just like that. Seeing their enemy fleeing Miko collapsed onto her guardian and let out a sigh of relief.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—

Back at the base Bulkhead sat on the metal gurney trying to tune out Ratchet yelling at him for his loss of pedes. He was more focused on his charge. She was passed out beside him, her pale face settled into a peaceful one. Miko was still enlarged by the Decepticon’s gun. Apparently it was a permanent alteration for the foreseeable future. That was definitely something he had to get used to.

Miko was hooked up to a bot sized fake blood bag, with new clean clothes, with still a bit of dirt in her hair. For all intensive purposes she should have died from blood loss hours ago but here she was still kicking. Ratchet couldn't figure out why but he theorized it was a side effect of the size ray she was hit with. The medic then again did say this was “defies all know logic” Miko they were talking about, so who knows.

Yep that's his Miko alright. Continuing to fight the impossible even when the battle was done. She really is a true wrecker Bulkhead thought proudly. He definitely has both now a new found fear and respect for her. Gently taking his charge’s hand he laid back onto the gurney and started to go into recharge, tuning out Ratchet’s yelling. It's been a long day for both of them.

Just before recharge overtook him he thought back to Megatron's horrified face. He wondered what he had seen……. whatever it was he would never know and he would like to keep it that way.

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[comikbook]

Forgive Me Father, 2023, Digital Painting by myself, Liz Pence

First post !

Socials and Commissions

[dying-weeds]

031623

[nomsfaultau]

Mandatory Family Reunion excerpt I wanna look at

[Something flickers in the expression Phil wears as he scrutinizes Techno. “I’ve tolerated a lot, believe me Technoblade. But the moment your instincts get my child hurt, you’ll find my patience runs very thin. This is unacceptable. Tommy wouldn’t hurt you, surely you know that. Why can’t you just trust people?”

“Trust? You want me to trust!? The last guy I trusted kidnapped me, and now there’s 8 bazillion cameras on my every move and the first time I tasted fresh air in weeks I got dragged back kicking and screaming because someone can’t accept his kid got murdered eighteen years ago!” It’s stupid. Techno knows that, has known it for years. But his words were all he ever had to fight back with when he was too small to do physical damage. Like all things, it’s lashing out, thoughtless. Isn’t he supposed to be smart? Isn’t that the one good thing about him? He’s always caught in reactions, responding in split seconds. 

It’s useless, anyways, even that bravado dies the moment Phil takes a single step forward, Techno’s jaw clicking shut. He should have known Phil’s earlier mercy was to lull him into false security. That's how it always worked with his parents. “Rave at me all you want, call me a lunatic, I. don’t. care. But the moment you hurt my son there has to be consequences.”

“Alright,” he says evenly, even if dread scrapes out his insides in coiling, asphyxiating knots, the familiar leviathan tumultuous in his gut. Techno shifts back, muscles tense. Judging by the murder in his eyes, Techno is only going to survive this one if he fights back. Like hell does he have a chance against the Angel, especially as battered as he is. But all he has to do is last till it’s out of Phil’s system. Maybe this time he’ll be left to lick his wounds in peace. 

Guess Phil really did mean it when he called them family.]

Do you think. Just for a second. Techno's eyes flickered to Philza's belt? And that's what snapped Phil out of his anger? So jarringly forcefully reminded that his son thinks only in terms of abuse that he's waiting to be hit?

(The violent part of the Angel of Death who delivers all comeuppance ten fold in blood, snarling at the threat to his family, unsoothed by the fact Techno is of his blood. Did part of Philza want to hit Techno, even if he would never? How much did he hate himself when faced with a mirror reflecting the Piglins back at him?)

((How bloody did he beat the Piglins after that encounter?))

[werewolfcave]

But it’s also the answer to that question: What if I am awful? What if I am terrible, too terrible to look at, too terrible to love? What if you are a monster? Well, what then?

[vesprynna]

✨Don't fade away, it's time to shine✨

A piece that I made comboing two different DTIYS by chuubibi and ludmilacerafoce over on IG. Been enjoying just messing around with my style again 🗡✨