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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Not a request, but I just wanted to ramble about this thought I've been having for a while (,,꒪꒫꒪,,)
Jing Yuan who is so in-tune with how his s/o acts that if they get kidnapped and someone impersonates them (even if appearances are perfect like Sparkle's ability), he's just like "ahaha you're not them, okay where are they" by the first few lines the impersonator says
I think this is such a neat concept to play around with and explore not only the relationship but giving the reader depth with exploring mannerisms and habits they may have with Jing Yuan.
He’s a perceptive man, of course he would tell when something is off with his beloved.
Take, for example, possession by a heliobus. You’re left with an out of body experience like you’re listening from within a dream as a heliobus possesses your body to try to get to leech off your energy and emotions. Of course your emotions are strongest with Jing Yuan. How could they not be?
The heliobus has unfortunately picked up on this.
cw | possession
There’s a knock at the door and Jing Yuan is faced with your bashful smile in the middle of the night. Right off the bat he can sense something is off.
“Evening, my love,” you greet with a shy wave. “I got, um, locked out of my place.”
“Again?” he inquires with a raised brow. “Come inside. It’s rather cold out.”
He’s got you seated in the living room as he brings a pot of tea and some cups. Your hands felt rather cold so this should warm you up, he insists. You take the drink with a sincere thanks, cheeks warm.
“You probably have not eaten since you were locked out. It was a long walk here I’m sure.” Jing Yuan returns with a small tray of fruits and an assortment of small snacks. It quickly takes up much of the coffee table and you anxiously reassure that he shouldn’t have to trouble himself over this for you.
The tea on your lips brings a delightful feeling of reassurance—belonging.
“Who are you, really?” Jing Yuan asks casually, a sharpness barely registering as he maintains his cool. “I know the person in front of me is my true beloved, however, one does not change overnight.”
Your body falters, and there’s a haze that you can barely hear Jing Yuan’s familiar voice through. The heliobus is struggling to maintain composure.
“What do you mean? I’m–”
“Eye contact.”
“What?”
Jing Yuan chuckles, something smooth and calculating. “She cannot hold eye contact for more than four seconds, not even with me most of the time. When you arrived, it was far too straightforward.”
He reaches over to pluck the teacup from your hands, turning it in his grip inquisitively. Your mouth is left agape, fingers slightly twitching as the heliobus struggles. There are slight lipstick smudges all around from where you (or rather, the heliobus) drank from it.
“You do not know her character. She is particular about drinking from only one area where her lips have already stained the cup. She is meticulous. You are not.”
“T-That’s not–” Your voice shifts as the heliobus begins to lose hold. It’s disorienting—feeling like you’re listening to a conversation within a dream.
“And lastly,” he continues, “she would not have knocked. She would have messaged me of her arrival.”
There’s a knock on the door.
“Ah, right on time.”
Jing Yuan stands, the heliobus at a loss for words at such an overbearing energy he gives off. A silent rage flickers like embers with his piercing honeyed stare. The fear is raw as it courses through them—the feeling weighing heavily on you by extension.
The smile Jing Yuan gives is anything but sincere. You feel a shiver run up your spine. “It seems your time playing a part is now over. I would like my beloved back. Do give the Ten-Lords Commission my regards.”
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Another small Clone^2 thought
Danny's hands are scarred.
Really, every part of him is. His arms, his legs, his torso. All of them littered in nicks and scratches and scabs that he's picked at over, and over, and over again. And then bigger ones, jagged scars from debris stabbing at him, and burns of ectoplasm blasts that melted through his regular clothes and hit his skin.
The one thing that never really got scarred were his hands. They were callused, of course, from all his climbing, and hitting, and hanging on for dear life to things. But never really scarred, not really. Maybe he just got lucky, maybe it was the fact that he wore gloves and they leather, and leather is harder to get through than cotton. Maybe both.
But, well, that's no longer case. But the scars on his hands take place on his palms. Two clean, thick lines going diagonally over his palms. Not from any enemy he's ever faced, but proof of his meeting with the little boy sitting between his knees, running his tiny fingers over those same scars.
Damian, his little brother. He scarred them, with that katana of his.
First when they first met, when Damian called him an imposter and proceeded to attack him. It was really only from Danny's exposure to the quick movements of ghosts that kept him from getting shish-kabob'd by Damian's sword.
And it was only because he was an idiot, and his brain was not faster than those reflexes that he kept grabbing the blade with his hands. That it kept cutting into that leather until it started cutting skin.
And then numerous times over on those rocky first months of Damian staying with him, when he didn't know any English, and Danny didn't know any Arabic. When Danny would piss him off or go looking for him when he ran off, he would have to grab his katana while Damian was swinging it at him.
His hands wouldn't heal for months because of it. The wounds kept being re-opened. Kept bleeding. Kept hurting. Until they slowly stopped hurting, and he knew that it wasn't a good thing.
Danny's parents were very upset when they saw his hands. It was hard to lie about where he got them - the lines are too clean, too consistent, to have been accidents. Danny didn't know how to lie and say it wasn't because of Damian. That it wasn't his katana that they knew nothing about that was stained with his blood.
He found a way to anyways, because he thought Damian was worth it at the time. He was a kid. He was scared. He was hurting other people and that's all he was ever taught to do.
So Danny thought a little pain was worth it.
(He still does.)
Oh, fun fact. There are three nerves in the human hand. the radial nerve, the median nerve, and the ulnar nerve. From what he could find on it, the ulnar nerve traveled up into the pinky and the ring finger, the median went through the middle of the palm and the ring, the middle, and the index, and the radial nerve went into the thumb and the index.
Fun fact, did you know consistent (or deep enough) lacerations to the palm could end up cutting a nerve? And that such lacerations can cause numbness, loss of feeling, and weakness in the hand, fingers, and thumb?
Here's a final fun fact: Danny had to go to physical therapy after his hands finally began to heal. Because Damian's katana had cut his radial nerve. There are seventeen thousands touch receptors in the hand, Danny's lost some of those.
His hands still hurt when he closes and opens them, the scarring pinches a little. He doesn't know why but his fingers hurt now when its too humid or too cold, or when its about to rain. It sucks. It's worth it.
He lied about before; here's the final fun fact:
There is a deeply, deeply, guilty look on Damian's face as he runs his little hands over Danny's scarred palms, carefully closing and opening his fingers in a slow rendition of his physical therapy workouts.
(Because even if it's ended, he still has to do them. Pain doesn't go away even if it's healed.)
"I'm sorry." Damian says in a meek, thick voice. He's said it before, when they've done this before at all hours of the day. Danny's wondering if Damian does it on purpose - hurt himself with this, that is. Not apologize. "I hurt you."
Danny sighs, deeply, and leans forward to press his face into his little brother's hair. "It's okay." He mutters, again. And he'll say it again, and again, and again, until Damian finally believes him. "I'm not mad."
"I am." Damian insists, his voice wobbles. "I hurt you, Danny."
"And I say it's okay that you did, Damian." Danny repeats, and wraps an arm around Damian's middle to sit him on his leg. Damian doesn't look at him, just curls his fingers around Danny's other hand and looks at the scar there. "Like I said, I'm not mad. I would do it again."
"Do not."
So, Danny's hands are scarred.
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