Getting scars was just a part of the job. Instead of turning it into something to be ashamed about, they began to boast about it. Maine flexed his arms in middle of the cafeteria to show off a rather long and jagged scar that curled around his bicep. He grumbled something nobody else understood and got this huge cocky smile that seemed like a challenge. York caught his eye from across the room and let out a small smirk. Next week after a mission, York pulled up his shirt to his shoulders in middle of the mess hall to show off a wound still healing that started from the front of his shoulder to his back. Maine frowned heavily.
Whenever Wash and North laid in bed, their fingers couldn’t help but wander over each other’s bodies. Fingertips actively seeked out little nicks or blooming bruises, lips kissing damaged flesh softly. After emergency surgery, all that was left was stitched wounds and fading scars. But whenever Wash laid his head onto North’s chest, eyes resting upon a pink bullet wound scar as he listened to North’s shorter, ragged breaths. Nobody else would notice this besides him.
York stopped boasting about his scars after he lost his eyes. Maine stopped boasting once he was unable to speak a word of English. The two rivals now only gave sad looks across the table, hands folded awkwardly, remembering back when they wore scars like a medal. York could barely look at himself in a mirror now and he forced himself to give a strained smile whenever he was conversed with somebody and their gaze would never leave his eye. Maine just tended to punch whatever was nearest when people couldn’t understand his nonsense growling.
As the AIs came, things began to slowly remedy themselves. Delta helped York onto the field, informing him of enemies to his left and sometimes giving oddly logical but uplifting speeches about his disability. With Sigma to help communicate, Maine stopped punching walls and people. Nobody seemed to notice when he became more withdrawn, conversations ending sooner, Maine ignoring some people, mostly York, flat out. Sigma insisted Maine was just being distracted by other things and preferred the space.
Theta constantly asked North he was okay, making sure if his freelancer was always healthy. And if he wasn’t, tried to help and be as uplifting as possible.
When Wash got Epsilon…
As North held a trembling Wash that kept babbling nonsense under his breath, it was a painful reminder that not all scars have to be physical.
imagine york with an uglier facial scar
imagine north with breathing problems after having some sniper rifle rounds loaded into his chest
just imagine freelancers physically fucked up
Ahh, I wish this boy had a secondary gene!
His mate is Tiger/Seraph and I’m really happy with their range but he doesn’t have a secondary gene and I can’t afford one.
After we all rebeled in the Roostertumblr Minecraft server, Mary our mod began to put all of us in bedrock prison cells. Well, except for me.
As I made my way across the ocean, she tped me into a cell.
There, I asked for a temp ender chest as I had some diamond stuff on me.
I kept my water bucket.
And drowned myself and won my freedom at spawn before logging off.
not enough dead parents jokes in this fandom
oh god did you see that one time when i was playing an online version of cards against humanity with my hermano i endeD UP GETTING A CAR D THAT SAID FUCKING EDEAD PARENTS AND THE REASON IT WAS SO HEARTBREAKINGLY FUNNY IS BECAUSE OUR USERNAMES WERE
wait i havea screenshot of it
I STARTED A REVOLUTION YOU CAN NEVER HOPE TO QUELL.
please never let me rhyme again in my life
it’s too much of a strife