I just wrote a really really good piece in the mashed server during the end of a rp bc they just added a rp channel and I really wanted to post it here bc it's too good not to share.

Anyways! 1!1!!!2!

I almost cried while writing this and my friend zee on the server said they cried to this so 🥹

TW for mention of wounds/injury, description of wounds/injury, mentions of rot/decay & descriptive language around that subject, body horror, & body image issues

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*-Amy walked down the hall to her room, and she felt that same disgust, that same deep, festering sickness at the bottom of her stomach the whole way. She'd never admit it, but since she'd arrived here- or since she learned she was always being watched-, she had learned to fall in love with the feeling of being completely isolated, being safe- and being alone with nobody to listen to you or watch your every move, and the only time she was ever able to feel that was in the shower- since, well, there weren't any cameras in there. for obvious reasons.*

*That's also when she actually had the time to think uninterrupted, really. And she was looking forward to that all day. When she finally got to her room, that damn metal sonic was just now slowly inching towards the door. She grabbed all her bags off of em and went in, (to the metal sonics relief), and kicked the door closed from behind her.-*

*-She threw her bags onto her bed and immediately got into the shower, turning the water to its hottest setting-- The water stung. She winced as the drops of water hit her face and body, but the pain of it burning her barely closed wounds was sort of comforting. It reminded her that she was alive- that she was human(well, mobian-). She closed her eyes, finally letting a tear escape her eyelid- something she hadn't gotten to do in a while. Then, more tears were rolling down her cheeks. They felt cold in contrast to the burning water that flowed and dribbled over her stitches and scars. But she didn't look sad- she just looked numb, almost at peace-- though she was far from it, it's been far too long since she'd felt even a sliver of peace. Amy stood in the water in silence with her eyes closed for what felt like minutes, before she opened them again, letting some of the water on her eyelids fall and drip down into her eyes, diluting her tears.*

*It wasn't long before she couldn't help but look down at herself again. It was sort of the inevitable, she did it every time she took her clothes off- in the shower, when changing-- it was inevitable that she would be drawn back to the intrusive and saddening yet addicting habit of physically- and mentally- looking down at herself. It felt like routine as her eyes danced over every scar, cut, wound, stitch, flaw and imperfection on her body. Not danced-, more like dragging your feet through painfully hot tar, begging for the hurt to stop even though you jumped into the tar pit yourself. She didn't really know at this point. She fixed her gaze onto the fur and skin on her arms that wasn't hers, with blood and pus leaking out from under the loose stitches- before going over to the next flaw, fixing her gaze onto the other bits of skin stitched onto her sides, where she swore there was more fat before-- everything about her that was 'fixed' made her sick. To see herself decomposing, rotting. Her bones hadn't healed yet, she was forced to stand on broken legs that were sawed to be extended. the more she thought about it, the more she hated herself, and the more she wanted to throw up. did she even want to be here? Was she really fixed- or just shattered and broken like the porcelain doll she is, like the glass heart she has, being so susceptible to criticism, being able to cry and break down so easily, it was honestly shameful. She was weak, she was a crybaby. There were people out there hurting more than her. She doesn't deserve to be sad. She doesn't deserve to feel sorry for herself.-* *-But she best not dwell on that if she wants to keep her sanity.-*