#prompt: that's going to scar

[serickswrites]

Sew

Warnings: captivity, torture, wounds, blood, cruel whumper

Whumpee hurt too much to struggle. Hurt too much to flinch back even. Whumper had been merciless in their torture. And had been very meticulous in making sure that Whumpee hurt everywhere. 

And they were tired too. Tired from being forced to stay awake for far too long. Tired from being in pain. And tired from all the blood they had lost. 

“Stop your crying,” Whumper ordered as they leaned over Whumpee. “It’s not even that bad.”

“S-S-Sorry,” Whumpee whispered back as they tried to swallow their tears. They couldn’t do this. Couldn’t endure the pain for much longer. 

Whumper probed the wounds on Whumpee’s arms. “That’s going to scar,” Whumper said as they rubbed a particularly painful wound. “Long. Deep. Doesn’t need stitches though.” Whumper almost sounded disappointed. 

Whumpee’s eyes fluttered around the pain as everything whited out, a small cry escaping their lips. Whumper had probed a wound on their abdomen a little too deeply. “Please,” they rasped out as Whumper continued to press the wound, a sadistic glee in their eyes. 

“Oh, does it hurt? Good.” Whumper held up a needle and thread. “This is going to hurt, too.”

Whumpee whimpered and cried out as Whumper slowly, painfully, sewed their skin back together. Whumper took their time with each wound that needed stitches, taking time to press each one, draw blood at each one. 

“Can’t have you dying just yet. We’re having so much fun,” Whumper said darkly as they finished. 

Whumpee was shaking and everything was fuzzy. “Pl-pl-pleaseeee,” Whumpee whispered. They couldn’t endure this. It was too much. 

“I will do whatever I please until I am done.” Whumper leaned over Whumpee, face inches away. “And you’re going to have to live with it until you don’t.” And Whumper thrust their finger into a wound they had just sewn shut. Whumpee’s world went white and then they knew nothing. 

[puppetmaster13u]

Have a Ghost are Dragons Prompt

Danny hadn't seen Vlad's other form. Not in the entire time he'd known him, nor at any point during a fight.

Oh sure, he'd gone into a ghost form, but never anything else, never anything more. Even Box-Ghost changed sometimes, usually to sit contentedly in one of said boxes until a ghost hunter started to shoot at him. Usually Danny's parents.

He'd never seen it until now, his own leg torn through by an unlucky shot and wings too small to fly as he tried to run. Tried to flee from his parents- tried to get out from the lab while green spattered everywhere.

He'd never seen it until they were trying to cut into him, even if they didn't know it was him. That it was their son. He just needed to get to the Portal, just needed to get out where they couldn't reach.

And then Vlad had arrived, almost seeming to stutter and freeze, everything growing cold. And then burst into flame.

Everything was a blur after that. Everything hurt, more than it should have compared to the injuries he'd suffered before. Painful enough that his vision whited out.

The next thing he knew, he was in the Zone. Not in Amity, not anywhere familiar either. He tried to ignore that fact, just as he tried to ignore the ectoplasm green dripping from slowly (too slowly) healing wounds.

"Where are we going?" he found his voice, however small.

Vlad was quiet, an unreadable expression on his reptilian face, head turned away from him. "Somewhere," he eventually answered, not sounding anything else but exhausted. "I'll figure it out."

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 2: season 3 or season 4 or environment

(Letters in a box that was entrusted to Grumbot in another universe.)

Dear Mumbo:

He is killing me, and I am beginning to think he knows it, and doesn't care. It's far worse from when I thought he didn't know. I wanted to think of us as friends, you know.

With each passing day, I am growing weaker still. I know, I know, you argued it was my fault, but I don't think you understand. Even if I hadn't gone and played with the mushrooms, I think I'd still be dying. It's something Scar's doing to the land. I'm in the shopping district more than most people; I practically live here part-time, with how much I've been expanding the Barge. And even before the mycellium, I was getting sicker and sicker and sicker. Ever since he became mayor.

You used to agree with me, but I'm done arguing. I don't know what it's done to your head. I don't know what it's done to mine.

And he's killing me. With every bit of the network he poisons and rips out, he's killing me. I know he knows it, now. I know you won't believe me. I just wanted someone to know. I wanted someone to know he's destroying the thing I did to keep myself alive.

I really wish you'd become mayor. Maybe then we'd just be hanging out with Grumbot.

Grian, I switched sides. You know I switched sides. You know why. I don't know if you should be sending me letters like this. I could tell Scar. I could tell anyone. I could make you go home and rest and let someone actually check out the fact you say you're dying. They would make you go home. We'd be able to actually fix the shopping district, you'd be able to rest, and Scar would be able to focus on more important things. You are still friends, I'm sure, once we fix this.

Dear Mumbo:

You won't. You're still a good enough friend to keep my secrets at least. Thank you.

Grian, I don't think that's a good thing.

Dear Mumbo:

Maybe I just want someone to know. Maybe I want you to come back. Maybe I just want someone to understand what they're doing to me.

I thought you'd understand.

I thought maybe I'd want you to remember when I was gone.

Grian, Frankly at this point I'm not convinced you're not lying. Scar's a good mayor. He's done what he promised. It's not like either of us voted for me either; we both wanted the shopping district to be made prettier too. I don't understand why you're trying to make me come back like this. Please just come talk. We can fix this.

Dear Mumbo:

You know, maybe you're right. I do regret sending you this. Would you do me the favor and burn it?

(There is no reply.)

[chucapybara]

thinking vv loudly about arlecchino as always—particularly her vision story entry

fire is still able to harm teyvat dwellers, even those with pyro visions. arlecchino's curse, among her two other sources of power, are no different.

perhaps arlecchino burned herself a few times, learning the ways of these strengths bestowed upon her for being of a lineage forgotten, eclipsed, the shade of a hollow, abyssal moon. and of the ink she bears, striking lines and markings along her arms, her hands, the charcoal hue at the tips of them; it's all a part of who she's come to be, making something of the ashes.

at times, in the grace of moonlight, you catch her by the windowsill. she does not take much to sunlight, preferring to stalk in the shadows, but the night was a different story; she allows the glow of it to illuminate her skin, the blackened arms. a reminder of what she has had to sacrifice to be here, to escape her fate, only to be thrust into another one.

her coat lays neatly folded over the back of a chair, and you brush your fingertips along the fabric—the feathered motifs, the sharp silver layers—as you pass. she knows you're here, of course; she senses you always when you've joined her in orbit, two inseparable celestials, sun and moon.

you embrace her from behind, and she does not protest, not so much as a breath of complaint. yours is the only touch she will allow, even when she would never even dream of allowing you an ounce of her burden.

(you hold her tighter, your cheek pressed to her bare shoulder. your lips paint 'ffections over a scar there, a line from a sword cut. her breath stutters. you take some of the weight with you when you withdraw.)

in the glimpse of the moonlight you catch the solemnity of her gaze, sharp, but never at you. in searching do your fingers thread between hers, clasping, thumb brushing the rings she has. her own, and those of the union that bound you together, in cursed sickness and in health, 'til death do you so part.

arlecchino's curse does not recede—it is far too late for that—but it has not grown in the length of time you have loved her, as she has loved you, and you are grateful for it. you bring her hand up to your lips, draping kisses along her knuckles.

she turns her head more, takes in the sight of you, and some of the edge falters from her gaze. arlecchino draws closer, her own lips pressing sweetly against your temple.

"you worry."

"it's my job, isn't it?" you whisper, as your kisses trace down the mark of her arm, to another healed sword cut, to a burn on her forearm. you inch down, almost kneeling, when she beckons you higher and embraces you tight.

"no," she breathes; a refusal, albeit a futile one. she knows you'll worry for her anyway.

it almost surprises you, the way she melts into your form—but you know it is a quiet moment for her, a silent request for your presence. for you to stay, for time to stop, to just give her this. to give her this.

she would never have you kneel for her. teyvat would sooner fall to barren ruins than ever see you on your knees for your husband.

arlecchino burrows into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. it tickles, some. your hands settle by her shoulderblades, by her spine. a warm pulse beats strong by her breast, and you know with due certainty it is the gemstone proof of her defiance against the heavens—her defiance for more days in the shade, more hours with you.

(once, she may have found the feeling of you creeping under her ribcage as intrusive, even abhorrent, but your place in the flesh of her heart sets her free, now.)

she keeps her vision close to her heart, but you will always nestle closer, and such is where you know you'll stay, once the skies begin to fall. cursed or not, she would face the dreadful dawn—to endure it all, the burning flame in her blood, the heavens shattering. to live, in spite of everything.

and you'll witness all of it, right there by her side.

[rubydubydoo122]

TW SH "You bleed just to know you're Alive"

If the pit healed everything, and completely erased any and all of the scars Jason previously had....

What if after he came down for a manic episode, he felt so disconnected with himself he recreated old scars he used to have in hopes that it would bring him closer to the person he used to be, because his blank canvas of a body felt too empty.

Bruce is confused on why the one scar Jason's always had on his chin is too straight

[whumpitisthen]

"Just a little memento; — to remember me by, and to honour all the time we got to spend together. You will never forget me. I won't let you."

<3

Masterlist

[lavendernlilac]

secret husbands 100% tried to bring the turf war roleplay into the bedroom at least once by “hatefucking” as their mother spore/mayor personas

omg yeah, 100%

one of them offhandedly suggests it and they agree to try it and see what happens. it’s the “roughest” they’ve ever been with each other — all teeth and bruising kisses. the mayor doesn’t go easy on mother spore either, pushing him into the mattress and completely ruining him

mother spore always puts up a fight, whether it’s their “hatefuck” or some other scene they’re doing — but the mayor knows how to make him fold. they walk away with a significant amount of bruises, and grian is definitely limping a bit, but it’s fine

scar showers him with so much love afterward, worried that he might’ve hurt him. but grian gently reminds him that he’s perfect, and he enjoys a bit of roughness from scar

I think mother spore and the mayor were definitely one of their spicier segments of their sex life, mhm mhm. the mayor certainly tried to “fuck the mycelium out” of mother spore (read: he railed grian within an inch of his life—) a few times.

scar knows how to command grian in the bedroom, and grian knows how to get what he wants too.

[cecropiacrown]

Hello! Could I request number 21 for the Kiss prompt for Fengqing? Would it be possible to have Feng Xin as having the insecurity simply bc you see a lot of Mu Qing having insecurities and such but a bit less so of FX?

Much love and thanks ^_^

Thanks for the ask! I took a while to think on this one and decided to combine it with another prompt that was requested of me, hope you don’t mind! :) #20 a kiss on a place of insecurity/ #21 a kiss on a scar Content Warning: implied s*xual content ; trans male character

Mu Qing just barely ghosts the tips of his fingers along Feng Xin’s sides, the touch bordering on ticklish but not quite arriving there because that warm, honey-gold skin is still hidden underneath Feng Xin’s t-shirt. The two of them have been laughing and tumbling in bed for quite some time now—nuzzling, kissing, touching—and Mu Qing is down to just his pants and boxers, but Feng Xin is still fully clothed.

As Mu Qing’s hands reach the bottom of the shirt, he dips his fingers just below the hem, not quite grabbing the fabric but clearly stating his intentions. The atmosphere between them has grown serious and, as the two men lock eyes, Mu Qing sees the moment Feng Xin’s face falls.

“Hey,” Mu Qing says, low and gentle, trying to soothe a worry that’s quickly taking root in Feng Xin’s mind. Ah, but he can see it in the other man’s eyes. He’s spiraling.

“A-Xin, it’s alright.”

Mu Qing pulls his fingers back and presses his palms flat onto Feng Xin’s lower stomach, already rubbing circles with his thumbs in an attempt to keep him grounded.

“You know it can stay on if you want it to. It’s okay—really.”

Feng Xin is biting at his lip, contemplation tugging his thick brows down into a furrow. He’s still holding Mu Qing’s eye contact but something tense swims behind his gaze and Mu Qing can tell he’s more in his brain than in the moment. 

“I’m sorry, A-Qing,” and then Feng Xin’s pretty amber eyes fall dejectedly to the bed, his head tilting with them as his shoulders slump. Mu Qing’s heart could break right there in his chest.

“Hey, c’mon now. None of that.” Mu Qing reaches a palm out to Feng Xin’s cheek, gently cupping his jaw and raising him back up to meet his eyes. “You don’t need to apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Mu Qing waits patiently for Feng Xin to agree before he continues. That small nod comes slowly and Mu Qing can tell Feng Xin doesn’t completely believe him.

“Do you want to stop, or do you want to keep going? Like I said, you can keep it on if that’s what you need, A-Xin.”

Feng Xin, the good listener he is, takes his time to think about his answer. Mu Qing watches that pink tongue dart out to lick those soft, plump lips and it takes all his willpower to not surge forward and kiss Feng Xin right there and then. His stomach swirls with want and he presses his hands a bit more firmly against Feng Xin’s stomach to calm down

“I want to keep going,” Feng Xin decides, his eyes flickering brighter with some newfound determination. 

“On or off, love?” Mu Qing presses, wanting to have the clarification before they go any further.

“Off.”

Mu Qing raises an eyebrow.

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Now he raises both eyebrows, fixing Feng Xin with a steady, serious look.

“Do you promise?”

“Yes, I promise,” and Feng Xin is so earnest it could make Mu Qing swoon if he wasn’t so ridiculously turned on.

“Okay. Just tell me if you want to stop, alright?”

“Always."

God, this man doesn’t know the sheer power he holds over Mu Qing.

Then Feng Xin smiles, his one dimple carving itself into the pretty mess of freckles on his cheek, and Mu Qing realizes that, oh, Feng Xin definitely knows.

Mu Qing leans forward, unable to resist the pull of those eyes any longer, and presses his lips to Feng Xin’s.

Feng Xin is still smiling as Mu Qing deepens the kiss, his hand coming up to rest at the back of Mu Qing’s neck as he eagerly tilts his head. With one hand steadying himself against the bed, Mu Qing brings his other hand back to the hem of Feng Xin’s shirt and tugs. He hungrily swallows the gasp his gesture pulls from Feng Xin’s lips and repeats the action.

Feng Xin parts his legs wider to accommodate Mu Qing’s body and the heady swirl of arousal seeps into the space between them.

Feng Xin licks wetly against Mu Qing’s lips, the messy thing he is, and it makes Mu Qing laugh. He presses a sweet peck to the corner of Feng Xin’s mouth and pulls back, feeling a bit smug as he sees Feng Xin’s closed eyes and parted lips careen forward in an attempt to chase him. When those pretty eyes finally open, dark and wanting, Mu Qing tugs again on the shirt, silently asking for permission.

Feng Xin’s breath is ragged, his voice already sounding wrecked as he stares up at Mu Qing.

“Do it.”

Like a bandaid, Mu Qing rips Feng Xin’s shirt up over his head in one quick motion. He tosses it nearby on the chance Feng Xin changes his mind and needs it back on, but doesn’t give Feng Xin time to even think about being self conscious before he’s kissing him again, slow and sweet.

Mu Qing murmurs against Feng Xin’s lips, “You are so beautiful.”

He places his hand firmly on Feng Xin’s side, kneading the skin in patient, grounding presses of his fingertips, and starts to trail kisses down his jaw. Mu Qing lets his lips map out each freckled constellation, not in any sort of rush, as he eases Feng Xin into the moment and further into the mattress.

He feels the hammering of Feng Xin’s pulse under his lips as he kisses the underside of the other man’s jaw and he can’t help but nip at the skin there. He whispers praise against Feng Xin’s burning skin, his voice rough with a kind of need only Feng Xin can bring out in him

“My gorgeous,”

He kisses down Feng Xin’s neck, licking at the dip of his collarbone.

“Precious,”

His next kiss is pressed right at the start of Feng Xin’s left pec, the heart that lays underneath beating faster and faster.

“Handsome Feng Xin.”

Feng Xin’s top surgery scars meet in a little dip right above his breastbone; a warm, purpley-brown tone much like the color of the sweet skin between his legs. Mu Qing presses his last kiss right to this spot, soft and lingering and worshipful. Feng Xin whimpers at the touch, his face twisted as he fists his hands in the sheets. He always needs this moment of discomfort before it breaks into acceptance and he lets himself breathe and be adored in the way he deserves.

Mu Qing listens for that quiet sigh before he peeks up at Feng Xin’s face. He finds his eyes closed, those dark lashes splayed across the tops of his cheeks, and a small smile on his lips. He presses one more kiss to this spot and watches the smile grow, his own heart expanding with it, and thinks, truthfully, that there is nowhere else he’d rather be.

“I love you, Feng Xin.”

“I love you, too. So, so much."

And Mu Qing shows Feng Xin just how deep that love runs.

[showrunnerihardlyknowher]

Age swap for Milo and Ben.

I'm curious to see what a grown up Milo would look like and what the resident overprotective dad would look like as a kid.

[fezwearingjellybananas]

I'm reading up on lightning strikes because it's been a little while and specifically focusing on Litchenberg Figures (this is for fic reasons again). I love the headcanon Barry (and Wally) have Litchenberg scars. I really love that art I saw the other month that had Barry's scar glowing with lightning, that's so very good.

The cause of Litchenberg Figures is capillaries bursting under the skin. They typically fade within a few days.

Now! This is a comic book. In reality lightning strikes have about a 10% mortality rate and 70% are left with a permanent disability (whether from brain damage, hearing loss, chronic fatigue, chronic pain, ect). This BBC article I'm reading mentions nothing about superpowers, so really, how realistic do we have to make things. Plus, Barry and Wally were covered in chemicals, the lightning could have also travelled through them, heated them in its fractal patterns, and left burns on the skin. I have actually written Barry with chemical burns before, and metal belts can leave burns, clothes can catch fire, there's options for burn scars and speedsters.

Also, there's the option it's from their own lightning, the charge the Speed Force gives them pushing down to their legs, a constantly shifting red mark that appears every time they run (and they run so much, it never gets the chance to fade).

But I have a slightly different idea. Scars are not the only mark left on your body from something that has happened to it, and much like scars these can fade over time, but stick around. And maybe the lightning didn't cause a rapid change in weight which these are typically associated with, but it definitely caused a rapid change in something.

What I would like to suggest is a fractal stretch mark that follows the path of the lightning, a Litchenberg that didn't fade because this change sank into Barry and Wally's skin and stayed there.

(Also here's the articles I've been reading:

BBC, ScienceAlert, iflscience, Wikipedia 1, 2, Guardian)

[serickswrites]

That’s Going to Be One Hell of a Scar

Warnings: blood, escape, wounds

Villain ran along behind Hero. “Run! Run faster!” They urged as they pushed forward. 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” Hero panted as they pushed forward. They just needed to get to the other side of the gate. Then they would be safe from Supervillain’s monster. 

“Then make it faster.” Villain’s voice was tight with fear. They were faster than Hero, but they couldn’t let Hero fall behind, so they put themself between Hero and the monster. 

They regretted that. 

“Through!” Hero said as they passed the gate and began to shoulder it closed. 

Villain dove, skidding along the last few feet to get away from the monster. They could feel the scrape along their side from their hip to their shoulder, but they didn’t care. They were through the gate. “Close it! Damn it!” 

As Hero struggled to close the heavy gate, Villain jumped up, blood dripping down their side, and shouldered the gate closed. The two collapsed, chests heaving with exertion. 

“You ok?” Villain asked as the wooziness began to set it once the adrenaline faded. 

Hero nodded. “Yeah.” They gave Villain a sidelong glance. “That’s going to be one helluva scar, Villain.”

Villain looked down at their own side as the world began to spin around them, black dots decorating their vision. “Y-Y-Yeah,” they said softly as they sank down further against the gate, all energy finally leaving their body. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Hero said, shaking Villain’s shoulder. “I need your help getting out of here.”

“‘kayyyyy,” Villain slurred as they blinked against the exhaustion that was sucking them under.

“Villain, stay awake. Damn it!”  Hero cursed as Villain’s head lolled forward. “Guess I’ll just have to figure a way for both of us to get out of here alone then.”

[sysig]

Gotta sweep up all this Dust (Patreon)

[chiropteracupola]

kiss on a scar, heron husbands!

we watched the sun go down on Scotland / and I watched the moon come up over you...

[officialgleamstar]

hey ,,, hey Travis ,,,,, can I request terrick with 20 👁️👁️

Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss: 20. ... on a scar.

ao3 link

Nicky always woke up ahead of Terry. He wasn’t sure if Nicky simply required less sleep as a demon or if he was dealing with some kind of insomnia, but whenever Terry got up, Nicky was already out of bed and shuffling around their apartment. Texting Jodie, making breakfast, humming to himself as he got dressed, he was always awake and always doing something, no matter how late into the night the two of them had been whispering at each other.

It wasn’t a surprise to wake up to the sound of Nicky moving, to say the least, but Terry was taken off guard by the fact that he could still feel his weight in the bed. Terry let his head loll to the side, not quite opening his eyes but peering through his eyelashes up at his partner. Nicky was propped up on one elbow, looking down at Terry with a lovestruck smile on his face as he traced his fingers against the comforter thrown over them both. Now that he was cognizant, Terry could feel the barely there touch through the blankets, as if Nicky was aching to touch him but unwilling to pull back their blankets and disrupt the quiet scene they were in.

Despite his own coziness, Terry almost wanted to break the peace himself. The look on Nicky’s face made his heart trip over itself in his chest, some light and fluttering emotions that made it hard for him to sit still. He blinked, opening his eyes further until he caught Nicky’s gaze. His partner returned the look, still wearing that same sappy expression, and Terry could hear a different part of the comforter start shifting as Nicky’s tail started twitching happily.

Nicky opened his mouth to say something and Terry jolted forward to press their lips together, stopping the words before they could leave his mouth. For his part, Nicky seemed to understand what Terry was doing, just relaxing into the kiss and staying silent when Terry pulled away. He just kept smiling, watching as Terry shifted so his head was near the pillows again. His tail was going even more crazy now and Terry bit down a smile, littering kisses against Nicky’s skin along his collar bones and down his chest.

He followed a vague trail of the various scars and nicks decorating his partner’s skin, needing to latch onto some sort of pattern before the sheer affection pounding through his veins made him blurt out something stupid. He didn’t want the peaceful quiet of the morning to be over and so he followed Nicky’s scars, kissing them one after another. A mark from a stray knife. A burn that Terry wasn’t sure the origin of (how could demons even burn?) A lighter patch of shiny skin that Terry was pretty sure Nicky had gotten in the Forgotten Realms over something as innocent as tripping on his own shoelace in the Omega Daddies’ castle. There was a collection of stories carved into Nicky’s skin and Terry indulged himself with them, taking his time appreciating them while Nicky let out increasingly flustered giggles.

Terry could tell that soon, Nicky was going to break and say something, and Terry leaned back to consider how to end this. He scanned his eyes over Nicky’s chest until his gaze landed on his next target. The neat edge of Nicky’s top surgery scars, right on the intersection where there was a line cut up towards his nipples. Terry ducked his head to kiss one and then the other and finally popped back up to kiss Nicky on the lips once again.

“Are you done?” Nicky mumbled, his voice husky from choking down giggles, and Terry grinned, their noses still brushing.

“For now, I think,” Terry replied and Nicky rolled his eyes. “Don’t act like you didn’t like it.”

“Hey, I never said I don’t like your attention! I just don’t like not talking.”

Terry huffed a laugh and shut him up with another kiss.

[sealrock]

decembhyur, day 16: journal

9th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

it was supposed to be a simple job: find the mark, take off her head as proof of the kill, bring it to these uppity inquisition people who'd rather eat chocobo shite than look me in the eye, leave with a sackful of gil. they had no clue she had a babe with her, and neither did I when I took this bounty. knowing this lot, they'd throw in an extra thousand if I got rid of the child. I've had my fill of killing women with children... why must the little children suffer unjustly? these people are no different than the corpse brigade, they just wear fancy robes and preach their holier than thou rubbish. I walked away empty-handed that day. well, not entirely. she said his name is achille.

when the woman—an elezen named tauvane—discovered my intentions, she looked... how can I say it? she was more savage than human, with her claws and brute strength. she put up quite a fight: she had the strength of damn near twenty men. she nearly ripped my face off before she slammed me into a nearby boulder to make her escape. I took note of unnatural black growths trailing along her arms and legs, much like a dragon's scales. her hair was matted and filthy, and her eyes screamed distrust and panic, like a wild animal backed into a corner. she was by the river with the babe; I managed to catch up with her just before she plunged him in the rushing water. whether it was a cruel act of survival or sparing her child from the hands of her homeland, I cannot say. she was dealt with an unfortunate hand in life, that much I can tell. whatever crime or crimes she committed had the inquisition desperate enough to seek outside help. but I couldn't go along with the plan. I pitied her, I pitied the child clutched to her chest and swaddled in tattered rags, his mewling cries muted by the driving rain. instead, I let her escape... but she left achille in my care. she said he'd be better off with me, and that she'll return for him 'when the time is right.' and just like that, she dashed away into the trees with a speed I never witnessed before. I couldn't stand there and gawk, however. I needed to find shelter. as I write this, achille is sound asleep on my bed. I found temporary respite in this hunting village called tailfeather, and I leave on the morrow. apparently tauvane stayed around these parts, but the locals were unaware of her bounty when they allowed her a safe haven before she gave birth. rhalgr's cock, I never expected to become a father again, not after... what happened in ala mhigo. he's not a replacement for the son I lost. I have too much blood on my hands as it is. the families I killed for the sake of the king, they torment me. I cannot pass this fate onto him. he's too young to be separated from his mother, she made a mistake. besides that... he's very ill. I don't have the proper medicines to help him. he may not make it by next sennight. maybe I should have put the two out of their misery when I had the chance. I'll leave him here in the village, there's a woman that's able to nurse him. he'll be better off here.

24th sun of the 1st umbral moon, 15XX

... I found myself unable to leave this child behind. it's been roughly a fortnight since tauvane entrusted her son to me, and she hasn't returned to tailfeather. I fear she must have perished in the storm. but to happy tidings: the healers here saved achille's life with their folk magicks. it was then that I learned he was half-blooded; his ears were barely pointed, meaning his father was a hyur like me. I'm ignorant of ishgardian politics, but if the whispers of the healers are true, then achille would've lead a difficult life in tauvane's homeland. to condemn a child just for the manner of his birth, it sickens me. I'm relieved that he'll pull through, but... I can't bear to hold him, much less look at him. he's not my son, I am but a stranger to him. just before I said my final goodbyes, when I took a glance at him, I found him staring back at me. his eyes were the same shade as his mother, a brilliant red hue that reminded me of blood. it matched his fuzzy crown of dark red hair. he was quiet for a long while before he broke out into a smile. he smiled at me, someone he doesn't know. I am not his mother. I couldn't leave him. I am not his father, I doubt he ever knew his father. but he chose me as his provider, his protector. when he's old enough I will take my leave of this place, I am sure that is what tauvane wished for me to do. as of now, he's a little menace, and I say that with affection. he's incredibly curious about my hair. he won't stop tugging at my beard and braids with his mighty grip. he's so small that I can carry him with one hand. but I know he will grow into a strong young man someday... he and tyro would've been like brothers, if tyro had lived. my poor tyro. he will not replace the one I lost. but nevertheless, I believe what was destroyed can be rebuilt. what was cut down can grow again.

[ikarus-angel]

DAY 6. - LOVERS