ARCHIVE.

i am going to be archiving this blog and revamping. i'm setting up the new blog tonight and when it's officially done this will get the official ARCHIVED title or w/e and i'll link to the new blog. there will be a new faceclaim. if we have threads / relationships / etc, please contact me here or on skype because i need to know if you want to keep established things, otherwise i'm looking for a new slate for the most part. one liners and such are going to be wiped. but my ships friendships etc as long as you're good with it i want to keep just. let's. communicate.

          fuck knows she as more than her own fair share of them.     she read somewhere once, the words of someone trying to be profound, that saidyou weren’t supposed to go through life unscathed.     scars are stories    ;    some fluffy bullshit like that that’s supposed to make you feel good.     johanna has earned all of hers, good and bad.     she doesn’t need some credited person to use their words like a band–aid for her.     she has scars.            -–––     raleigh does too.                       she’s always been more open about her body than him, but after the accident it became even moreso.     he always wore long shirts, never really allowed other eyes to see his skin.     to see his scars.     johanna sometimes thinks that they’ll look like yancy on his skin, the way the holds himself.     she’s seen them before, a while ago, once.     he was mad, or at least upset and frustrated that she saw it.    saw him.     but it seems like something new when she opens the door to his room to find him in the middle of putting his shirt on.     the scarred side is to her, and lines like the connectors marr his body.     she stands still and silent for a moment, knowing he hasn’t realized she’s there just yet.                       she takes a step in, and his eyes find hers.     a look of panic as he tries to rush and get his shirt on, but johanna steps into his space quick enough and stops him.     her hand moves the fabric away and off of him, and she’s sure he hates this, but he has to stop fucking hiding.     at least from her, that’s all she asks.     fingertips skirt loosely upon the surface of the scars as she dips her forehead onto his shoulder.     a loud and heavy exhale comes from raleigh at her touch.     she doesn’t look at his face, gives him at least the privacy of his emotions as she cartographs the lines upon him from the accident.     a quick, silent movement on her part.     if he stopped paying attention for even a second, he’d not notice it.     but she moves her head, and plants a quick kiss upon his warm skin.     she hopes that she’s learning how to make him feel okay.     she hopes that she can be that bandaid on a wound, the kind that’s large enough to make it stop bleeding and let it heal.