#Scars

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[raysofpoetry222]

you drew stars; around my scars, but now i'm bleeding-

— Napoleon Lapathiotis, tr. by Panayotis Sfalagakos

[deluxewhump]

Nightfall: In the Gloaming

(Takes place the evening after what dreams may come, where Carlo senses an ancient vampire’s presence nearby and is deeply unsettled by it. Based on an ask by @distinctlywhumpthing!)

CW: vampire & bloodbag pet, past abuse mention

Maxim woke as he had every nightfall in the recent memory of the world. The house was entirely still. As if uninhabited, it had slipped silently into the blue shadows of evening. If a mortal held their breath (and tried to hear over their own thoughts and rabbit-quick heartbeat) they might be able to hear the bullfrogs starling to croak down by the creek-fed pond, but they wouldn’t hear the hum of traffic down the hill on the highway as he did, that endless snake of red taillights was too far for human ears to pick up. They wouldn’t be able to scan the nearby woods and acres of old farmland for vampires either, which he did as a habit every evening. This night, all was quiet on Vampire Radio.

Maxim’s pet (pet was a demeaning word for a mortal, even meant as a term of endearment. It was Erik’s word, not his, though better than the more modern and unappetizing moniker of bloodbag) was not somewhere on his own in the house as he usually was at this time of evening, playing a record or watching tv or cooking. In fact Maxim couldn’t sense any of the usual signs of life in the old house, not even the dim hum electric lights emit.

Where was Carlo, then? He opened his eyes. The answer was right in front of him, sleeping. Well, not right in front of him. A far enough distance to be respectful of the deep sleep of a vampire, and a short enough distance to be endearing.

Maxim hadn’t slept in a coffin since before the Baltimore Railroad Company was formed, instead choosing a bed with a canopy and curtains that could be drawn as an extra layer of precaution against unwanted sunlight. Even without them drawn, no daylight could reach the second floor bedroom he slept in, because the windows were permanently boarded up, plastered over, and painted to match the wall. Still, drawing them provided him some measure of ease, like sleeping with a blanket, though that was wholly unnecessary too. In fact he’d slept this summer day without one, unlike his mortal friend, who was curled up on the floor three feet from the bed with a pillow he’d brought from another room and his favorite soft throw draped over him.

Maxim regarded the familiar shape of the top of his head sticking out from it, the way his hair spilled on the pillow. He pushed out of bed and knelt silently beside the boy, touching soft curls with the backs of his fingers.

“Of all the places to be, why are you on my bare floor?” he murmured so that it might wake Carlo gently. He was answered with a whimper and a quick drawing of breath that mortals do when they wake— that moment of confusion passing over their eyes and giving way to recognition. He pushed himself up on one elbow.

“I thought I felt it again,” Carlo said sleepily, a troubled look soon replacing the relief and trust that had flooded his features upon opening his eyes. “Him. The vampire from last night.”

“In the day?” Maxim asked gently, but it came out as doubtful as he felt. Carlo looked away sheepishly. He knew it to be unlikely, too. But he’d never come in this room before, and must have been quite frightened in order to do so.

“Maybe you did,” Maxim said, brushing a strand of hair from the boy’s eyes. “Or maybe it was just an echo.”

“An echo? Is that a thing?”

“It can be. Especially in one of the more ancient of us. Like embers left from a fire.”

“I didn’t know what else to do. I tried not to wake you with the door. It was unlocked.”

Maxim nodded an acknowledgement. The boy was waiting for him to tell him he needn’t sleep on the floor, that he could have crawled up on the bed, but the truth was it was unwise to approach a sleeping vampire unexpectedly. They did not wake well in the day. He might reflexively lash out at anything disturbing his sleep. One half-awake swipe of the arm could result in a broken bone. One accidental, primal bite could sever an artery. Carlo knew that— both from an unfortunate wealth of experience with vampires and his own instinct.

All of this considered, he was flattered Carlo still thought the safest place to be in the entire house was his sleeping room. Rather than embarrass anyone by saying so, Maxim reached out and touched the mortal’s warm cheek. Only inches away was his neck, tender and quickly healing from a recent puncture— two barely-pink bite marks that would soon fade to nothing, no more of the rapacious double-dipping that had left him with silver scars on his wrists and hands.

Knowing he was forgiven, or better yet that there was nothing to forgive, Carlo smiled and leaned into his cold palm. He thumbed over the boy’s skin to feel the pliable warmth, the blood just beneath. He was so mutable, delicate. A changing and temporary organism that could walk in the sun, age, and die… and yet of the two of them, more alive. Hunger pawed at Maxim’s mind, dilating his pupils and setting his teeth on edge. He would like a substantial drink, and soon. But this one was not for a real Feeding. Never. This one was for lovebites.

Perhaps sensing his thoughts, the mortal tilted his head, baring his neck in wordless offering. With protracting fangs, the vampire lowered his head and took it.

[gritpyre]

Kind of a sequel to this

She has a new scar now 💞

[sharonaparadox]

[Image: red-tinted fanart of Lute, Vaggie, and Charlie from Hazbin Hotel in a detailed, semi-realistic style and split into two parts with a dark border like a vine between the two halves.

On the left are Lute and Vaggie, colored in dark red and black tones with a large red circle glowing behind them. Lute has her wings spread out as she leans over the other exorcist sitting on the ground, bright red blood creating a small pool from where it runs down Vaggie’s back where her wings used to be. Lute’s blood-stained hand is gripping her equally red sword and pointing it downward beside Vaggie as she leans in close enough that their frowning lips are nearly touching, Lute’s eye half-lidded and eyebrow upturned as if sad while a red “X” hovers over where Vaggie’s eye used to be as red blood runs down her chin. There seem to be red bloodstains on Lute’s arm nearest the viewer, the limb obscured as Vaggie raises her hand to place upon the back of Lute’s shoulder.

On the right side of the canvas are Vaggie and Charlie on what looks like red bedding with curtains around them, golden light streaming in behind them to cast a warm glow upon the scene. Their pose mirrors the other half as Charlie leans in over Vaggie sitting upon the bed, both women bringing one arm down to support them. Vaggie is bringing her other hand up to cup Charlie’s face through her loose wavy hair while Charlie is tilting Vaggie’s chin up with her own hand, and they are watching each other with half-lidded gazes as they lean in close enough that their smiling lips are nearly touching. Charlie’s demonic red horns are curling up from the top of her head as she wears a dress shirt with rolled-up sleeves and dark trousers with suspenders while Vaggie looks much like she did when the two women first met with short hair and wearing an off-the-shoulder dress that reveals her black bra and her back scars over what look like dark stockings. End description.]

the valentine's day pieces side by side

[atanerrum]

BY THE BITTER BLOOD I REMAIN UNLOVED...👼🪽

[mansand]

[wombrion]

eww

[gawki]

Euphoria

~When you turn to the side and see your new chest for the first time~

[oifaaa]

Decided to draw that post from the other day

[luminarai]

kintsugi (all my scars are golden) // prints, etc

[iliothermia]

[lemon-lime-behavior]

Zosan through the ages

some notes:

Sanji’s chest scar is from when Zoro stabbed him through the heart making good on a certain promise (dont worry he got better)

everyone got the Mugiwara Jolly Roger as a tattoo after Luffy became king of the pirates. Not everyone got them on the shoulder but Zoro and Sanji like to mirror each other.

Sanji grew out his beard and started braiding it as a tribute to Zeff after the old fart finally passed away. Zoro is of the opinion that he could’ve found literally any other way to pay tribute.

Zoro’s arm got chopped off when he finally lost his title as world’s greatest swordsperson to a determined young upstart (she and Zoro have since become good friends). Now he just has to use two sword style at most, like a normal person.

By the time he’s 70 Sanji’s voice sounds like straight gravel from all the smoking, to the point where he’s actually a bit hard to understand when he’s talking fast.

Once he no longer had to defend his title Zoro fully indulged in retirement and being *very* well fed, though Sanji is keeping an eye on his salt intake, and the alcohol cabinet is nigh Zoro proof.

I had to power through drawing the young and trim version of them to get to the REAL PRIZE, OLD MEN AWOOOOGA

[2022dirt]

For some people, scars can’t get dirty. Scar skin tissue isn’t like normal skin tissue, and it doesn’t regenerate with sweat glands. As a result, no dirt will stick to it.

[originalartblog]

Unforeseen learning opportunity!

(wikitionary to explain the scar)

(bonus)

[pustotsvit]

ancient language, speak through fingers the awful edges where you end and I begin