burn scars

anonymous asked:

I had a customer throw her hot coffee on me last week because her card got declined and I said I couldn't let her leave with her groceries unless she paid for them (when she tried to leave). She ran out with the cart while I was screaming in pain. The man behind her called the cops, and my managers were sympathetic and gave me time off to heal. She was still charged with assault and is banned from the store. She also had to pay my medical bills. I have a burn scar on my arm because of her.

The king was shaded beneath a crimson canopy, one leg thrown negligently over the carved wooden arm of his chair. Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen sat behind him. In the back of the royal box, Sandor Clegane stood at guard, his hands resting on his swordbelt. The white cloak of the Kingsguard was draped over his broad shoulders and fastened with a jeweled brooch, the snowy cloth looking somehow unnatural against his brown roughspun tunic and studded leather jerkin. “Lady Sansa,” the Hound announced curtly when he saw her. His voice was as rough as the sound of a saw on wood. The burn scars on his face and throat made one side of his mouth twitch when he spoke.

ACOK, Sansa I

Wait, wait, wait…  a jeweled brooch and snowy white cloak on a guy that never wears ornamentation except for his Hounds helm!?!  He absolutely disdains pageantry and displays of material wealth as much as knighthood itself.  This is a pretty large departure from his usual self.  He’s likely doing more than just announcing her presence because his mouth is twitching, his signature tell he’s thinking something he isn’t saying.  That just screams “look at me” and "notice me.”  Well, mission accomplished, because she does give him her attention, except she notes those details mostly as being out of character.  Sandor’s acceptance of the white cloak now seems to be more about impressing Sansa, rather just resigning himself to the fact he doesn’t have any wife or lands and thus nothing better to do.              

He was there when Barristan Selmy was “retired” from the KG and let his cloak fall to the floor.  Sansa knelt on that cloak and begged for mercy for her father.  That image connecting her to the exemplary reputation of Barristan, a living legend of a knight must have stuck with him.  Then he is later presented with the opportunity to replace Barristan, which he’s seen as someone Sansa holds in high regard.  He still wants to distance himself though from the other kingsguard by choosing wool instead of silk and satin cloaks and he doesn’t wear the white armor, but there’s still that snappy jeweled brooch!  This is how he wants Sansa to see him and deep down how he wants to see himself. 

Looking back on his bragging of saving Sansa in the riot to Arya, acting like a true knight for her was probably his proudest moment.  It’s why he was kinda salty about her being late to thank him and why he re-wrote history of her singing the song then to culminate the fantasy.   If the story had followed the formula in Sandor’s head, it would have gone like:  save the fair maiden < she’s grateful to her hero < perfect opportunity to win her heart < he’s rewarded with more intimacy with her.  Life is not a song, of course.  Sandor is now set up to have his own struggles with the white cloak just the same as Jaime and Barristan…

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Deadpool 2.0

(A/N): God I suck at titles XD

Request: Hiya! Can you write a Nat x Fem! reader imagine where (Y/N) is Deadpool’s younger sister, who is a badass ninja assassin with a regenerative healing factor mutation and she’s also Nat’s girlfriend and Deadpool stops by at the Avengers Tower and finds out his sister is dating Nat?

Warnings: some swearing

Tags: @mcuimxgine, @ifoundlove-x0vanessa0x, @saradi1018, @holland-toms, @superwholockian309, @fly-f0rever, @capbuckthor, @sxph-t

Originally posted by natalia-romanova-black-widow

   Nat’s lips gently caressed over (Y/N)’s scars, the burn/ boil like things that covered their body from head to toe. It wasn’t as drastic as their brother’s, Wade Wilson, they had managed to retain some of their hair and some of their skin intact but it was still pretty bad. And just like their brother (Y/N) had the tendency to hide behind a mask, too scared to show themselves to the real word so whenever Nat even caught a glimpse of their skin you can bet your ass she was gonna cherish it, just like she was doing now. 

   Her lips had started at (Y/N)’s fingertips and were now slowly making a pathway up their neck, making sure to cover each little scar that (Y/N) had. 

   "You’re an idiot,“ Nat mutters, her fingers gliding over (Y/N)’s missing finger. 

   "I was just tryna make you some food…” (Y/N) mutters, pouting as they do. It was true (Y/N) had just been trying to make a nice meal for Nat when they accidentally chopped off their own finger, needless to say Nat was more than a little freaked when she walked into their apartment to see (Y/N) spurting blood from their finger. “Plus, it’ll heal up in a few,” 

   “You’re still an idiot,” Nat mutters once again, nuzzling her nose against (Y/N)’s once she was done kissing (Y/N)’s neck. “I really like you like this…”


   “No you idiot,” Nat chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to their lips, which were covered in the same burn like scars. “Without the suit and mask, just you…without any of that fake stuff,” (Y/N) bites their lip, casting their gaze down towards their lap. 

   “I hate myself like this…I’m so ugly,” 

   “Hey,” Nat quickly wraps her arms around them, pulling them even closer than they already were. “You’re not ugly, you’re beautiful,” She whispers, pressing kisses along (Y/N)’s scarred face. 

   “Nat, you don’t have to lie-” (Y/N) is suddenly cut short when Nat flips them over, pinning them to the couch below the two, smirking down at (Y/N) just a bit. (Y/N) squeals unexpectedly, laughing loudly when Nat huffed a bit of air out at the movement. 

   “I’m not lying, I am telling the truth, I think you are the most beautiful human being I’ve ever seen-” Nat gives them a small smile as she leans down, ghosting her lips along their collarbone. “So beautiful,” She murmurs, gently running her tongue along the bone causing (Y/N) to whimper and shift just a tiny bit. “My sweet beautiful baby-” 

   “Hey (Y/N), I brought that DVD you asked for-” Wade stops in his tracks as he walks in, his eyes glued to Nat and (Y/N). Nat immediately perks up, glaring at Wade just a bit, after all he did just totally interrupt their moment. (Y/N) however kept squirming, desperate to cover the blush that would be dusting their cheeks if it could. “Um…What’s going on?” Wade asks, his tone more than confused. 

   “U-Um Wade, this is Nat…my girlfriend,” Nat smirks at Wade, giving him a rather intimidating look. 

   “Oh um…congrats?” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. Suddenly he seems to remember the DVD as he quickly sets it down before retreating back to the door. “So um, yeah, I just brought that over for you two and- oh god, I’m just gonna leave,” He whispers, turning around and closing the door behind him. (Y/N) groans in embarrassment but Nat pays the noise no mind, rather she directs her attention back to (Y/N), that damn smirk still on her face. 

   “Where were we?”  

vague mentions of abuse //

There were days when Andrew felt fine. On those days, he could make it through life with little to no problems, albeit handling the small problems that did arise with the gentleness and care one would expect from Andrew. His face, though blank, felt less like a mask and more like his genuine emotions. He could talk to people, let them come near him without feeling the need to constantly reach for his armbands. He could see Neil and feel less frightened of falling. The clawing fullness in his chest felt warm, not stifling.

There were days when Andrew was not fine. Days where a door open or shut echoed loudly in his head and shot tension throughout his body. Neil always had that godawful look on his face when Andrew was Not Fine. He hated the idea of someone like Neil pitying him. Neil, covered head to toe in burns and scars, would look at him as if he were the one who needed to be saved, as if he were in any way a better person that Neil was. Andrew hated him. He would push and push and push Neil away on those days, but Neil would always be back, always be ready with quiet words. What right did he have to think he could help him? It was ridiculous.

Neil, the damn martyr. Unpredictable as he is unreal.

Though, Andrew couldn’t deny how nice it was to have someone stay with him while he allowed himself to self-destruct quietly. Neil would sit near him, never asking for anything but, “Is this okay?” or “Do you want me to leave?” His gentle tones were uncomfortable to sit through, but they got the job done. Gentleness was never a thing Andrew would get accustomed to.

And sometimes, just sometimes, Andrew would find himself talking to Neil, telling him things he thought he would never say aloud. Neil would listen, occasionally making an annoying face but otherwise not reacting. The relief was startling, but Andrew kept his words sharp and vague. He wasn’t interested in shock-value or the idea of traumatizing Neil, but it was comforting to let out some of the thoughts he usually kept schooled away.

Andrew would never have a home. He knew that. But Neil would always be home.

Don't play Hamilton on shuffle
  • me: *plays Hamilton on shuffle*
  • song: *plays Helpless*
  • me: yaass Eliza my precious cinnamon roll
  • song: *plays Burn*
  • me: wait no no no no....
  • song: *plays Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story*
  • me: .....*emotionally scarred and emotionally unstable*