OH MY GODS!

The only surviving royal guard closes the hidden door behind their backs, rushes to the opposite side of the corridor, listening to rebels' footsteps approaching. He stands before the insignificant door and pretends he just shut it, shouts "Run, Your Majesty! I'll try to hold them!"

Then he defends this door like he means it, untill his hand can't even grip the weapon. He's down, bleeding, exhausted, covered in wounds.

The rebels finaly open the door, and there's just a mop closet.

They beat the shit out of him, he spits blood and laughs. He won.

Injuries that are just too hard or even impossible to hide. Blood rapidly soaking through clothes and staining hands when trying to cover up or put pressure on wounds. Cuts and bruises in obvious, easy to see places where clothes can't cover or keep riding up. Bones very obviously broken. Injuries so painful that it's impossible to mask it, whumpee curling in on themselves or falling to the ground out of sheer agony.

for trinity (and whitaker) it closes out the storyline with trinity’s self harm and shows that their bond is strong despite how much trinity pushes him away. it also proves that she has someone around her to keep her safe at home, the he saw the scalpel, and that whitaker would always pick her over robby’s house if she needed it. it also makes garsantos have an entirely different tone and stopping point as we saw it. because the fact that the last thing we heard about garcia is that trinity thinks she’s being treated like a squeeze toy while she’s planning on relapsing her self harm, when garcia was in reality going to dinner with her dad (instead of her situationship) changes so much.

i want you to care enough to ask me six times how i am until the mask breaks and i can let it out bc i know you truly care and aren’t asking me bc it’s a social custom.

i want you to hug me while i cry and mascara drips down my face onto your clothes and you laugh and say it’s not a problem and they care more about me than a silly shirt.

i want you to text me little messages and say that i’ll get through it, i’m allowed to struggle, i don’t have to over explain why im being the way i am, i don’t have to mask, im loved. i don’t feel loved, i feel tolerated. i just need someone to tell me they aren’t tolerating me and do want me.

these scenarios aren’t even about anyone in particular, just little fantasies i’ve had bc i want to feel safe with and not judged by someone. i don’t want to be yelled at for struggling anymore.