#tw scar discussion

[clownrecess]

(tw for implied sh, and discussion of scars in general)

Hey, its summer so I just wanted to say that I do not care what someones scars look like. What color they are, the size, shape, etc. It does not matter. Do not stare at them. Do not comment on them.

Bodies with scars are good bodies. People with scars do not owe you an explanation, nor do we need to cover up.

[arecaceae175]

Whumptober Day 27: Matches, Scars

AO3 link. I'm still working my way through whumptober :D.

AND!!!! THIS IS MY 50TH WORK POSTED ON AO3!!!!!! :DDDDD

Summary: The chain relaxes in a hot spring, and Wild notices Sky has a scar that matches one of his. 1052 words. Sky & Wild.

Warnings: scars, discussion of scars, lightning scars, Sky starts to feel very uncomfortable because of discussion of scars (not graphic, doesn't reach panic attack stage)

Whump rating: 1/5. Very light-hearted vibes

Sky lowered himself into the hot spring with a long, content sigh. The heat immediately soothed his aching muscles, and the pressure of the water felt incredible. Sky sighed happily again, letting his eyes slide shut and his head fall back to rest on the rocks. The angle made the pain in his neck more pronounced, Sky realized with a wince, but he didn’t have the energy to hold his head up. 

“Sky, here,” Wild said. 

“Hm?” 

“Lift your head for me?” Wild asked. 

Sky lifted his head without opening his eyes. He heard Wild shuffling behind him. 

“Okay, good,” Wild said.

Sky dropped his head again and made a surprised noise when it landed on something soft. It kept his head raised enough that the angle didn’t put pressure on his neck. Sky smiled widely as he reached up to adjust the fabric into the perfect position. He opened his eyes to meet Wild’s above him.

���Thanks, champion,” Sky said. Wild beamed. 

Sky finished adjusting the fabric then let his arms splash back into the water. He let them float on top, making small waves with careful motions. 

On the other side of the spring, Wind and Hyrule were taking turns being thrown into the spring by Twilight. Their laughter was like music to Sky, and he relished in the sound. Sky could see Four watching closely, and Sky hoped he would set aside his maturity for long enough to play, too. 

A comfortable distance away from the splashing, Time, Warriors, and Legend were reclined comfortably in the water. Warriors and Legend were playfully arguing about something. Although Sky couldn’t hear, he suspected Time was antagonizing them on purpose, based on the man’s mischievous smirk. 

Sky chuckled softly to himself. It was a perfect day.

There was a small splash as Wild flopped into the spring. The water lapped up against Sky’s chest. The heat stung comfortably. 

“This was a great idea,” Sky said. “The heat feels so nice.”

“It has healing properties, too,” Wild said. 

“Oh, really?” Sky asked. 

Wild nodded as he pulled his hair tie out and began combing his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. The science is pretty cool, actually. Yunobo explained it to me once. The water here is connected to the great fairies springs, but there’s also a reaction that happens with some chemical I don’t remember the name of because of the heat.”

“Cool,” Sky said. They fell into comfortable silence as Wild worked on his hair and Sky worked on relaxing.  

“Hey, Sky?” Wild asked. His voice was soft and hesitant. Sky looked at him in surprise.

“Yeah?” Sky asked.

“Those lines,” Wild said. 

Sky followed his gaze. The bright lightning scars started on his hand and branched up his arm, then down the right side of his torso and all the way down his right leg. 

“They’re from lightning, right?” Wild asked. 

“They are,” Sky pushed the words out through tight throat. The nerves in his hand tingled. He kept his gaze on the water. 

“Look, I have some too! We’re matching!” Wild said. Sky blinked in surprise at the change in his tone. 

Wild jumped up in the water and pointed to his hip. The same marks arched across Wild’s hip and down his leg. Sky had never noticed them before. Wild’s body was a mosaic of scar tissue more so than the rest of them. It all blended in Sky’s mind. That was what Wild looked like, and he had never paid any more attention to it than that.

“It’s from Thunderblight,” Wild said. “Made it through rubber armor and a shock resistant elixir.”

Sky didn’t know what rubber was. He decided to focus on that, rather than the shock of the lightning coursing through his body, and the blood-boiling anxiety of I have to get this shot right- have I held onto this one for too long- is this going to fry my heart- am I going to win.

“What’s rubber?” Sky asked. He thought his voice sounded remarkably steady, considering. 

Wild paused, blinking blankly at him. “I… don’t actually know.”

And just like that, Sky felt the tension in him break. He huffed a laugh and tried to force his muscles to relax, his heartbeat to slow. 

“You used it even though you don’t know what it is?” Sky asked. 

“Course I did. I didn’t know what anything was, at first,” Wild said with a grin. Sky nodded in acquiescence. He supposed that was true. 

Wild looked at Sky’s scars again, and his expression made Sky think he was going to ask another question. 

“Can, um,” Sky asked, swallowing thickly. “Can we change the subject?”

Wild’s eyes went wide. “Of course! I’m sorry, Sky, yeah. Of course. Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. I was just- we matched, and-”

“Hey,” Sky said. He put his hands over Wild’s to still their rapid movements.

“It’s alright. You didn’t know,” Sky said. “But we’re here to relax, and I’d like to do that.”

“Yeah, totally. Sorry. We’ll do that,” Wild said. Sky smiled again, and leaned back on the fabric below his head. 

“Sky!” 

Legend’s yell came from across the spring. Sky groaned light-heartedly and reluctantly raised his head. Legend and Warriors were both rushing towards him in the water. They looked ridiculous, Sky thought, trying to move quickly through the spring. He stifled a laugh.

“You need to settle this for us. The old man can’t have a serious discussion for more than two seconds at a time,” Legend said, shooting a glare in Time’s direction. “You’ll be impartial.”

“There’s no way you’re winning this one,” Warriors said. 

“Shut it, pretty boy. Here’s the thing. I’m obviously the most fashionable hero, here-”

“Bullshit.”

“I said shut it! And since I’m obviously the most fashionable, I-”

“How are we deciding that? I think I should be in the running,” Wild said. 

“What? There’s no running, I’m just trying to make a point-”

“I dunno, I think I could give you a run for your rupees,” Wild said, complete with a shrug and a shit-eating grin to match Time’s. 

Sky stroked his chin in an imitation of deep thought. “Wild makes a good point, Vet. What’s the criteria here?”

Legend let out a strangled, frustrated noise and splashed backwards into the water.

[literallyjusttoa]

What scars from Zeus does Apollo have in second sons au?

He doesn't actually have many scars from Zeus, since any injuries he got were mostly bruises. The only scar he has is one at the top of his left eyebrow, which he got from the final fight he had with his dad before he left the house.

This feels pretty dark, so I'm gonna add one extra nice thing for this au. When Apollo left home, he didn't really have anywhere to go. He just stayed in a dorm at his college for the first six months, working extra jobs and terrified that he would run out of money. Luckily for him, he hit it off with his roommate that year, who was super kind and understanding of Apollo's triggers. The two of them managed to split the rent on a small apartment, which they continue to do to this day. That roommate is Admetus, and he and Apollo are 2 seconds away from dating but just never admit it.

[keldae]

A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking for your galemancer ❤️

Devi loved nighttime around camp. In the peaceful darkness, all was calm and relaxing, giving the party a needed reprieve from the stress of the day. That it meant she could retreat into Gale's cozy tent with the wizard in question only sweetened the deal for her.

Right now, she was on her side, facing Gale, lightly shivering as the cool night air tickled her exposed skin, damp as it was with sweat. Her heart had finally slowed back down after a round of passionate sex, one that made her grateful Gale had remembered to put up a silencing ward around the tent (lest other members of the group start yelling for the couple to fuck off). He had cast the spell already to clean away the mess they had left between her thighs; now he reclined on his side, his head propped up on his hand, fondly gazing at her. His other hand reached out, tracing over her cheek and ear with his fingers, a gentle, soft touch that made Devi feel safe and protected with him.

“You are a work of art,” Gale murmured, tracing the contours of Devi's face as though committing her to memory. “You are poetry taken flesh and sent to live among mere mortals. You are a treasure that deserves nothing less than the finest pedestal on which to display your beauty.”

Feeling a not-unpleasant warmth on her cheeks, Devi smiled at Gale, almost shy as he praised her. “You make me feel worthy of adoration,” she softly said. “You make me feel as beautiful as a goddess.”

“If nobody has told you before that you are beautiful to rival even Mystra, then every other lover you’ve had has been negligent. Worshipping you and your beauty is a blasphemy that I will happily partake in.” Gale’s eyes were soft as he gazed at Devi, his thumb tracing her lips. “Gods, how did I get so lucky as to have you here with me?”

Smiling, Devi kissed the pad of Gale’s thumb. “It turns out that I have a weakness for handsome wizards who snuggle me to sleep and read me bedtime stories.”

Gale chuckled softly. “And this wizard is incredibly grateful that you picked him, out of everyone you could have chosen to love.” He went quiet for a moment, his thumb shifting to trace the scar that cut vertically across Devi’s lips. “I don’t think you told me how you picked up this mark, my love…” he quietly said, his brow furrowing. 

Devi shook her head slightly. “I didn’t,” she softly confirmed. “I… angered Father and he threw a glass bottle at me. It missed me, but the shards of glass from when it hit the wall beside me left their marks. The one on my forehead was from the same bottle.” 

For a second, fury flickered through Gale’s eyes, followed by sorrow as he leaned in close. His lips touched the scar on Devi’s mouth, a gentle press that nearly made her cry sheerly from how tender his touch was; then he moved enough to kiss the scar on her temple. “Your father will have plenty to answer for when I meet him,” he muttered. “You will never suffer another wound at his hand again – I promise. Nobody harms my beloved.”

Feeling her eyes burning, Devi scooted closer to Gale on the rumpled bedroll, her hand settling on his shoulder. “Gods, I love you, my protective, handsome wizard,” she whispered, leaning in to kiss his neck.

“I love you too,” Gale murmured, kissing her forehead again over her scar. He leaned back a smidgen, just enough to take in more of Devi’s body with his gaze; his eyes settled on her neck tattoo. “You haven’t told me the story of this one,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss the tattoo.

Devi shivered as she felt Gale kiss his way over her skin. “So… I’m going to start by saying I was seventeen and fuelled entirely by spite and poor decisions,” she said with a little laugh. “I had found out that Father was planning to sell me to some lord’s son or nephew or something, and he wanted me to look pretty.” She heard Gale lowly growl something uncomplimentary at her father as he listened to her story. “My partner at the time, she had a friend who had a friend in Wyrm’s Crossing who could do tattoos… and, well, roses are my favourite flower. They gave me a drink of something that would dull the pain, and by dawn, I had this.” She wrinkled her nose and ruefully laughed. “I fainted once while they were doing the tattoo – it hurt so bad to have done.”

Gale winced as he pulled back from kissing the tattoo to meet Devi’s eyes. “I can only imagine the pain of a tattoo, forget having that on your neck, of all places. Can I safely assume that your father did not approve?”

“Oh, he was livid that I cost him the deal, since the lord in question thought the tattoo was ugly and refused to agree to the contract.” Devi smirked. “It was worth his rage and the punishment I got from him. I think that might have been the same partner who got my ears pierced too…”

“She was either a terrible influence, or an excellent one,” Gale chuckled. If Devi focused, she could hear the suppressed anger in his voice, directed at her father. “How did that relationship end, if I may ask?”

Devi shrugged. “Apparently I was an experiment for her to see if she liked women or not. She decided one day that she missed being with a man, told me we needed to go our separate ways, and I found out maybe a tenday later that she was a month pregnant at the time.”

“I wish I didn’t know that feeling,” Gale muttered. “A previous partner of mine, before Mystra, did something similar to me, when I was much younger. I didn’t know for certain that the child wasn’t mine until he was born with suspiciously pointed ears… to a human mother.”

“Oh, that bitch,” Devi growled, her hand gently rubbing Gale’s shoulder.

Gale ruefully chuckled. “I had a few choice words of my own for her when I told her to go to a particularly low level of the Hells. Tara nearly clawed her eyes out – not to mention how furious my mother was.” He snorted. “More insulting was how she tried to tell me that she was part Elf, despite me knowing that she was entirely human. I’ve never had my intelligence insulted like that before, or since.”

“You are far better off without that lying bitch in your life,” Devi murmured with a nod. 

“Indeed… particularly since it means that I get to have you in my life instead.” Gale smiled fondly at Devi and leaned in to kiss her gently. “You are a gift that I treasure, every moment that I am blessed to spend in your company, my love.”

Devi smiled as she kissed Gale back, scooting closer to him. “Which one of us is the lucky one again?” she murmured. “I’m pretty sure it’s me – the uneducated thief who fell for a handsome, compassionate, smart-as-all-hells wizard.”

“You are a master thief, my darling – you stole my heart months ago.” Gale chuckled. He leaned back slightly from the kisses, his eyes roaming over her exposed skin, his hand following his eyes over her body. He stopped at another scar on her forearm, his brow furrowing. “What was the story behind this scar?”

Devi looked at the scar and made a face. “That one was an accident. My brother Jehn was teaching me how to fight with knives, and he was demonstrating a strike that I was meant to block… he told me while he was trying to stitch me up afterward that I was supposed to block with my own knife and not my arm.”

Gale winced again. “Oh, Devi…”

“In my defence, I was… eight years old? Nine?” Devi shrugged. “I was young, and just learning how to use knives. Jehn didn’t mean to hurt me, and he did feel terrible about it.” She contemplated the scar again. “Honestly, the stitches he did to try and fix it hurt more than the initial wound.” 

“It’s a marvel that you didn’t bleed out or acquire an infection from that, or lose partial function in your hand,” Gale murmured, lifting Devi’s arm so he could tenderly kiss the scar. “How many more wounds did you get from Jehn while he was teaching you how to fight?”

“That one was the worst one from him, you’ll be happy to hear,” Devi assured him. “I got a few more cuts on my arms, and a couple of shallow wounds on my stomach – by then, he’d managed to steal some healing potions that he could use to patch me up from the worst of the wounds, so I was fine. And I gave him his share of wounds back – nearly broke his nose once.”

Gale softly chuckled. “That’s my girl,” he murmured, making Devi’s heart skip a beat in her chest at the endearment. He leaned in and rubbed his nose against hers for a moment. “My sweet, perfect star. Gods, you are so perfect – scars and all.”

Smiling, Devi snuggled up to Gale, as closely as she could manage, and lowered her head so she could kiss the orb brand across his heart. “First in my heart,” she whispered, feeling Gale drape his arm across her body so he could hold her closer to him. “My heart belongs to you, Gale – fully and utterly.” 

She felt Gale’s arm tighten across her as he gently nudged her head back so he could nuzzle her face. “And I promise to take the best care of what you’ve entrusted to me, my love,” he softly said. “Your heart will never break while it is in my hands.”

“And neither will yours,” Devi promised, setting her fingers across Gale’s heart. She saw his smile before he kissed her again – tenderly at first, then with more passion and lust in his touches as he gently pushed her onto her back, his thigh nudging her legs open for him again.

This, Devi thought as she kissed Gale back, running her fingers into his hair and arching her body into his as she tried to touch as much of him as she could, was home – in Gale’s arms, warm and safe, and loved in a way that she had never experienced before. She would follow this man into the lowest of the Hells if he had need of her, and some part of her heart knew that he would gladly follow her there too.

I am the luckiest girl alive, was her last coherent thought before she gave herself to the pleasures that Gale made her experience again.

[the-maddened-hatter]

another Hazbin/Helluva OC!

She's Peppermint's slightly younger half-sister who for a long stretch of time becomes obsessed with becoming a risen demon angel.

She is an Imp-Succubus hybrid, with the Imp half coming from her and Peppermint's father, Spitfyre. Spitfyre is injured severely by the crossfire of turf warring sinners post extermination, rendering him comatose, with Peppermint and Skye (then Sugar) suffering less profound but still severe injuries (Peppermint is rendered nearly deaf from horn damage and Skye's face is completely scarred).

From that point she becomes obsessed with rising above; from her station in the hierarchy, above the once human sinners who destroy without thought, from hell itself, believing it possible as she knows angels can fall.

She thinks if she can rise she'll be safe from the treacherous world she was born into, from the thoughtless cruelty and hopelessness that besets and persists Hellborns from outside and within, and perhaps others may even be able to follow her example and rise to safety

She sits atop the roof of the apartment building her family lives in (she will not speak to them when they come up to bring her food) and recites her best approximation of prayers she's able to before they make her lose her voice for the day, tries to strengthen her wings to be able to ascend (Succubus/Inccubus wings are really only meant for glides or short flights at the most), or, worst of all, tries to "purify" herself with greenfire candles. The accident only scarred her face.

Eventually Rosie, a close friend of Spitfyre, is able to counsel her and help her see that even if it were possible to reach angelic status in this way (which it almost certainly isn't given the entire history of Hellborns and meetings Charlie has had with angels), would it be worth denouncing every ounce of herself, her species, her family, her body, just to prove to those who have placed themselves in charge that she's "worthy" to be their follower?

Skye admits that she wants to prove that things can change and force people to no longer see Hellborns as disposable or unsaveable, and she breaks down admitting that she doesn't know what else she can possibly do to change Heaven's mind.

Rosie tells her that she's seen wonderful people condemned to hell simply for a mistake or their species, and "real stinkers" thrive in hell or basking in heaven for similar reasons. She isn't saving anyone just by hurting herself and her family.

It's slower progress than just the one conversation of course, but over time she does get her to think, then to stop, then to talk to her moms and her siblings again, and eventually to come back in from the roof.

She's ashamed of course facing her family, but ultimately they're just happy to have her back in relative safety with them again. Rosie admittedly helps smooth some things over, but things do settle back down over time.

She doesn't go back to being Sugar, it doesn't really fit her anymore, but Skye had been more of an act of cruelty on herself, a reminder of everything she felt she had to become.

But in the end she settles on something

------------

Bonus fun facts about Spitfyre:

Very good friends with Rosie as mentioned, and hung out in Cannibal Town so much that he picked up a bit of a 1920s American accent

His first wife (Peppermint's mother) unfortunately died in a bank robbery (he declines to clarify exactly how she died, meaning she may have been a robber, a clerk, or a patron.

He made Rosie Peppermint's (for lack of a better word) Godmother

Peppermint gets his name from a distinctive scar Spitfyre has on one eye

He's polyamorous, and is married to a Succubus (Starlight's bio mother), and a reptilian hellborn who he has a son with

Doesn't know the words for it, but he's pansexual and demisexual

He does recover from his coma eventually, though he's still quite disabled from the aftermath

Starlight never tells him about her stint of roof time, and he believes that her scars are from the accident

He doesn't overly question Starlight taking on a new name, he just thinks it's really cute that she and Peppermint match

Doesn't fully understand his kids but loves them all very very much <3

[kiwibirbkat]

The masculine urge to see blood welling up out of thin and uneven cuts along my right arm, wiping it off with one finger and watching it bleed again, staring at the contrast of the beautiful blood red against my pale skin before finally washing it off until the blood finally stops

[mad-hunts]

[ scars ] a gentle kiss on the partner's scar(s)-Violet!

all barton knew when he'd suddenly jolted up during the night was that he had had one hell of an upsetting dream. and that, even though it hadn't been about his bio father this time, that it had stung equally as much. barton nearly thought that he was stuck in the same vicious cycle that he'd been before in fact. a loop that consisted of the doctor feeling awful while he was with this person; but also feeling like he deserved every bad thing he'd done to him. that is, until one of them eventually deemed the other had crossed a line. then they would decide to break up. but unfortunately, like the tide, barton often came back to his ex eventually. and he cracked that up to the both of them being the 'same brand of fucked up.'

though barton hadn't contacted his ex-boyfriend in a long time now. all of the bad memories he'd given the doctor had stuck around in his head, however, and it even left barton feeling panicked that the person next to him in bed might be him. it was violet, though. someone who was considerably better than laurent. and who wouldn't brush barton off if he randomly (or perhaps not so randomly, in this case) got the urge to get close to her in an attempt to comfort himself. so, after barton let out a relieved albeit shaky sigh, he moved to embrace violet. he also seemed to have accidentally woke her up in the process. thus, when she posed a question to him about what was going on, barton tried to say something in response.

unexpectantly, what ended up coming out was something that sounded like a mix between a voice crack and a sob. the doctor tried really hard to keep his breathing level, but when he felt violet's lips tenderly kiss the scar he had on his shoulder, barton held onto her tighter. he spoke up then, ❝ i... i'm sorry, i just — i had a bad dream, ❞ something about saying it aloud, combined with the kiss she gave him, managed to break down the dam he had build inside of him then. a choked sob slipped through barton's lips as he sniffled. ❝ can i just stay here like this with you for a bit? ❞

[astral-catastrophe]

Anyway it’s so funny to me because if asked, I’d say I’ve got nothing to worry about , but when I think of my current situation happening to anyone else, it makes me sad

[the-entity-down-the-street]

My girl is already a demon, might as well Hazbin Hotelify her

FYI she uses she/her pronouns but in kind of a drag queen way

{Text:

Dread - Proud Sinner

23

Bi

Femboy

Prefers Hell: "Heaven has no true compassion for imperfect folks."

Died: 2020 via slit wrist

Human Life:

Freshly graduated Uni

Smut writer

Good person, in Hell for taking own life }

NOTE: Some important Lore on Dread is that she's the version of me that committed suicide, I'm not just adding that bit in for edginess, it's literally a part of my history. And since most religions send people to Hell for that, I thought I'd use the opportunity to comment on what I, a suicide survivor, think of it.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 27: you drew stars around my scars, but now i'm bleeding

Scars + "Let me see."

2512 Words; Undead Acrobat

TW for discussion of death, blood, brief panic attack

AO3 ver

Being dead was weird.

Well, maybe not dead dead, not anymore, but having been dead was weird. Dying itself wasn’t weird, just painful. Really painful. And Dion could scarcely remember what came between his death and his… was rearising the right word? Undying? Waking up?

It was after waking up in that abandoned hospital that things became weird.

Exhaustion was to be expected, Dion supposed. It was like he slept in too late too long, his body heavy with the desire to lie back down and sleep. Everything had been exhausting those first few days after waking up, to the point where he could barely talk for most of it. He had had to lean on Gisu when the Pelican first arrived, still unsteady on his own two feet—which sucked, and Dion hated that his balance was so screwed up. Or, well, he would have at the time, if he’d had the energy.

But even when he was able to walk on his own two feet without wanting to collapse, exhaustion still lingered. It’d leave him alone, most days, but not every day—

Case in point: today.

Dion groaned, his whole body as heavy as lead. He stared at the ceiling of his tent. His head felt like it was full of cotton. He didn’t want to move at all.

But it was like he was too tired to sleep, too—all he could do was lay there and wait. Wait for his body to stop feeling like one giant hole, wait for his parents to come to his tent entrance all concerned, wait for his body to remember that he wasn’t not a corpse anymore, and hadn’t been for a while.

Being not-quite-dead was weird. And annoying.

Footsteps came to a stop outside his tent. “Bambino?” His mother’s worry floated in through the closed flap. It was like acid down Dion’s throat.

(Her hand cupping his face when he first walked back into camp with Raz, disbelief in her eyes.

She had thought he was dead. And she wasn’t even wrong.)

Dion moved his arm for better leverage. A monumental effort. But it was better than letting his mother worry—

“‘M fine,” Dion mumbled, “Jus’ tired.” Really tired. Could-barely-sit-up tired. Absolutely exhausted. He pushed, trying to lift himself into something resembling sitting—he made it about halfway up before he fell back down onto his cot.

“If you’re sure…” God, Dion hated this. He wasn’t dead anymore! Everything should be fine! His mother continued talking. “Just try not to spend all day in there, okay?”

“Okay.” Dion managed. He’d… probably be able to get back up by dinner. Probably.

Or he might be dropping dead again, that was also a possibility. Just not one Dion wanted to consider.

His mother’s footsteps left, leaving Dion alone with his exhaustion. He stared at the ceiling of his tent, at the fabric separating him from the rest of the world.

He wanted to get up. He should get up.

But he couldn’t. Exhaustion pinned him down like so many hands holding onto him, dragging him down down down until he felt like one giant hole, like a void of nothingness that existed only to lay still and silent—

Dion huffed. Being undead was weird. And awful. It was better than being dead dead, sure, but—

He was almost too exhausted to be upset.

+=+=+=+=+

“Dion!” His father greeted, when Dion finally found the energy to drag himself out of his tent that evening. “Can you help me with the lights? One of the bulbs must have blown.” He gestured to the fairy lights, only a third of which were working.

“Okay.” Dion joined his dad in pulling out the dark bulbs and replacing them, one by one, trying to find the bad bulb. They sat there in silence for a little bit, just testing bulbs, putting the unblown ones back on the wire—

Dion unscrewed one of the unlit bulbs, and put in the replacement bulb. The whole string lit up—

Dion jolted, withdrawing his hand as though he’d burned it. His fingers pricked with the tiny shock he’d gotten, and Dion flinched back.

Electricity coursing up and down his veins, bright and hot, spasming through his muscles until he could barely even twitch—

The whole world threatened to press in and crush him. Dion couldn’t breathe.

His father’s hands were heavy on his shoulders, a grounding presence. “Breathe, son.” He urged.

Dion inhaled, and choked on it. He tried again, and managed to get as far as the exhale. He shuddered, his next breath coming out shakily, and kept trying.

Slowly, the panic ebbed away, until Dion was all that remained.

His father’s eyes traced the curve of the lichtenberg figure creeping up Dion’s neck, onto his jaw. “I’m sorry.” He murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you like that.”

Dion shook his head. “It wasn’t you.” He said. “I just…” He huffed. “I don’t think I can help you with any electronics. Not anytime soon.”

His father nodded. “Of course. Take all the time you need, Dion.”

Dion grimaced. His scar was just one big reminder of the fact that he had died, had been fried like a piece of chicken—

Breathe. Right. Right. It was okay. Dion was fine. He wasn’t going to be electrocuted again.

(If only he could make his body believe that.)

+=+=+=+=+

If there was one thing Dion would take to his grave (...his second grave?), it’d be the fact that he had died at all.

Gisu and Morris had agreed, for differing reasons. Gisu didn’t want necromancy to become known by the wider world. Morris didn’t want to talk about Dion dying at all. They were both good reasons to lie and say that Dion was just in a coma, sure—

But Dion’s reason was the most important, he felt. He didn’t want his family to ever know that he had died. Didn’t want them to worry, didn’t want them to stress. There were more important things to worry about, especially since Dion wasn’t dead anymore.

But wanting something did not make it come easy. Forget the bouts of lethargy leaving him barely able to move—Dion’s body kept finding new ways to make everyone around him worry. And to make his life harder. Unlife? Undeath. Ways to make his undeath harder.

Dion grimaced as he bent forwards, touching his toes with ease—and pain. His joints were killing him today—and his mother was making worried mutters over how he’d barely touched his breakfast. And he had tried—really!—to eat as much as possible, but the thought of more than a few bites made him want to lie down. Hopefully he’d be hungrier when dinner came. Maybe.

But he wasn’t dropping dead, so maybe everything was fine? Ugh, he couldn’t wait to see Gisu today. She’d probably have some kind of solution for all of this—she was smart like that. And even Morris would be nice to see, awful as he was—only because he knew about Dion’s undeath, of course. There was no other reason for Dion to want to go into that treehouse if Queepie wasn’t there.

Still, Dion did his stretches, ignoring his aching joints. Not like I can die twice. He didn’t know where that joke had come from, but it kept popping up in the back of his mind.

It probably didn’t mean anything, though.

+=+=+=+=+

The movie was going well.

It wasn’t one that Dion had seen before, some old film about a house and a haunted hill, or something—Dion had been paying more attention to the curl of Gisu’s hair and how pretty she was, wow, smart and pretty and somehow interested in him, how lucky was he?

But the movie was going well, and Gisu was sitting next to him, and in the low light of the TV screen—Lizzie had insisted on viewing the movie in the dark, even going so far as to put blackout curtains on the windows of the common room—she looked almost ethereal, like some gorgeous goddess who could do anything she wanted.

Dion supposed that maybe she kind of was—she had brought him back from the dead, afterall. He could sit by her side forever, really. Even if he hadn’t died and she hadn’t brought him back, he’d still want to be by her side, he was sure. It was a strange certainty, but one that Dion didn’t have it in him to doubt.

“So when does the movie get good?” Morris asked, his voice cutting through the gloom. Ugh, right. As much as Dion would have loved to be watching a movie alone with Gisu, Morris was there too. And Lizzie, who wasn’t half as annoying.

Dion stretched his hands out in front of him, cracking his knuckles. “Do you ever shut up?” He asked, leaning forwards to look past Lizzie to Morris.

“Do you?” Morris riposted.

Lizzie groaned. “If you two don’t stop—”

“Wait.” Gisu grabbed Dion’s hand. “Lizzie, turn the TV off.”

“I’m not pausing the movie just so you can make out in the dark.” Lizzie responded. Gisu snorted, flicking her free hand at the TV. A spark glowed on her fingers, then the screen went dark.

“Wh—hey!” Lizzie reached for the remote—

“Look!” Gisu yanked Dion’s hand, shoving it into Lizzie’s face. Dion yelped, but didn’t move to pull his hand from her grip. Her hand was rough, calloused thumb against his wrist—oh, Dion wanted to hold these hands forever, actually.

Lizzie stared for a few moments. “...huh.” She said.

Dion looked at his own hand. What was so “huh” about it—oh. Yeah, that was pretty huh.

Gisu let go of Dion’s hand. “Babe, crack your knuckles again.”

Wordlessly, Dion complied.

The glow grew a little bit brighter, outlining his knuckles in the dark.

“Huh.” Dion said. Wait, could he—he cracked his elbow, which started to glow, too. Okay, this was weird.

Morris laughed, shattering the silence. “Holy—oh my—you’re a glowstick!” He cackled. “Gisu, your boyfriend is a glowstick!” He continued to cackle, his breath coming out in drawn-out squeaks like a deflating balloon.

“Okay, why are Dion’s bones glowing?” Lizzie rounded on Gisu, ignoring Morris’ hysterics. “What did you do?”

Dion froze. He looked at Gisu, who was equally as caught.

“Experiments?” Gisu tried. Which wasn’t far from the truth—though Gisu was adamant that what she had been doing was merely “data collection” and not an actual experiment.

Lizzie started. “On the guy who was just in a coma?”

“Hey, I’m right here!” Dion interjected. He was ignored, Gisu frantically trying to explain the glowing joints without explaining the truth and Lizzie sounding more and more disappointed by the second.

And Morris was still laughing!

Dion leaned back on the couch with a sigh. Being undead was exhausting.

+=+=+=+=+

Slice.

Dion flinched, pulling the knife back to examine the cut he’d just made. Like an idiot. Great. Now he had to bandage his hand, clean the knife and cutting board, and delay lunch. Dion grumbled, muttering under his breath as he left to go grab a bandage. He stopped, his eyes catching on the blood welling up around the cut.

Dion squinted, moving his hand closer to the light. Okay, weird. Maybe it was just his eyes playing tricks on him.

Dion shrugged, and went back to grabbing a bandage. He’d go bug Morris about it later, probably—Gisu told him she’d be busy today, with her mentor (Otto something?), so that left Morris as the person Dion could go to.

Yeah. Dion found the bandages. Yeah, that’s what he’d do.

Just… not until after lunch.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion poked his head in through the open trapdoor. “Hey, asshole.”

Morris didn’t turn around to face him, focused on going through the new records he’d gotten his hands on, humming a tune that Dion didn’t know.

Dion groaned. “I know you can hear me!” Morris’ headphones were nowhere to be found, probably back in his dorm. “Morris!” He started to haul himself up into the treehouse proper.

“There’s no need to yell.” Morris chided. Dion could feel the smug grin on his face.

“Whatever.” Dion hauled himself all the way up. “You’re not busy, right?”

“Super busy.” Morris said dryly. “You’ll have to bother Gisu.” He looked at Dion long enough for Dion to see his stupid smirk, then went back to his records. “So what’d you break this time?”

Dion exhaled slowly. Right. It was just a question. And he knew Morris would listen, for all that he put on a facade saying otherwise.

Dion flicked his eyes up towards the ceiling, following the grain of the wood. “Blood’s not supposed to sparkle, right?” Dion was pretty sure of that. He’d seen blood before. It had never sparkled. Right?

Dion glanced over at Morris, who was staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

Dion looked back at the ceiling, his face heating up. Yeah, it was a stupid question, anyway—

“What.” It wasn’t quite a question and wasn’t quite a statement—more just a noise, really, one that perfectly matched the dumbfounded look on Morris’ face.

Dion’s face flushed. He started to bounce back and forth on the balls of his feet, nervous energy jittering in all of his limbs. “Well, I was helping chop celery for lunch today, right? And I accidentally cut myself,” He held out his bandaged hand, unable to look Morris in the eyes, “And—maybe I was just seeing things, or it was a trick of the light, but—” He stopped, finally looking Morris in the eyes. “My blood. It was glittery.” Like the glitter glue markers Mirtala had gotten as a gift last year, and then proceeded to glitter-fy her favorite stuffed animals with.

Morris stared at Dion for a long moment. Then—

“You’re going to take off that bandage and it’s going to already be healed, isn’t it?” Morris sounded more exasperated than anything else.

Oh, yeah. “Probably.” Dion realized. He was wondering why he’d been hungrier than normal at lunch today. Not quite enough for seconds, but he still ended up eating more than he usually did.

Morris brought his hand to his temple, pinching the bridge of his nose. “First the glowstick joints, now this.” He mumbled. “And why’d you come to me?”

Dion shrugged. “Gisu said she’d be busy, today.” He explained. He didn't exactly mean to make it sound like Morris was second-best, but then again, he was being compared to Gisu. It was kind of impossible not to imply preference.

“Right.” Morris turned back to his records. “Why are we friends, again?”

“Because you just can’t get rid of me.” Dion responded automatically, all of his earlier embarrassment draining away in favor of a cocky grin. “And because I’m just that great to be around.”

“Great?” Morris snorted. “You’re awful.” he complained. But he was smiling.

“You’re worse.” Dion shot back, grinning anyway.

Yeah, being undead was weird. It was exhausting, and sometimes his joints ached in ways Dion didn’t know were possible—

But he wasn’t completely alone, at least. And that was good enough for him.

[arecaceae175]

Febuwhump Day 5: "That's gonna scar" (Wild)

AO3 link. Warnings: discussion of wounds, infection, burns, and stitches

This one is kinda strange, I'm not sure how I feel about it. It's also still not whump. Only one of these has actually been whump so far lol. This is turning out to be more of a h/c event than a whump event.

Wild sat quite impatiently on the log as Twilight finished dressing the wound on his back. The battle was a long one, at the end of a rough week, so their healing supplies were running dangerously low. The gash on Wild’s back was ugly, but by no means life threatening. 

Twilight was taking his time to dress it properly to prevent infection, and Wild was vibrating in his seat. He got the wound pushing Four out of the way of a sword. It had been aimed at Four’s throat, so Wild acted fast and took the blow instead. He didn’t have time to survey his surroundings, and he pushed Four right into a fire chuchu. 

Four was across the camp, fists clenched, eyes tightly shut, and teeth grit in pain. Against the backdrop of Legend’s half-hearted protests, Hyrule was draining his magic to try to heal the extensive burns on Four’s sword arm. Hyrule was being completely supported by Legend. He was pale and looked ready to collapse. 

Warriors knew the most about burns out of all of them. He’d taken one look at the burn and said that if it went untreated it could affect Four’s ability to properly wield a sword. The last of their health potions had been used to stabilize Time’s stab wound, so Hyrule had volunteered his magic. 

Wild’s insides roiled with guilt. This was his fault. Time and Warriors had lectured him countless times about battle strategy, being aware of everything happening on the battlefield at once. Wild could pinpoint every sound in a forest, he could take in every visual cue and make split second decisions, but while fighting his focus honed in on his opponent and the locations of his companions. Nothing else. 

His single-minded focus had gotten him through his solitary adventure. Working with a team was something Wild was completely unaccustomed to. He was getting better at it, they all were, but Wild’s progress was slow. 

A stick broke, and Wild’s head shot up. Warriors was staring at him from across camp with an unreadable expression. Wild bit his lip and dropped his gaze. Honestly, he wished Warriors would just get it over with. He knew he screwed up, and he didn’t need to keep being reminded of it. He would make it up to Four, then he would work on being better. He didn’t need Warriors to tell him that. 

Warriors’ gaze made something in the back of his mind itch, but he barely registered the feeling over his buzzing anxiety. 

Twilight pat Wild’s shoulder and pushed himself to his feet. “There you go. It’s gonna scar, but at least it won’t get infected. Do you…”

Twilight’s words faded into a high pitched ringing. The edges of Wild’s vision went white.  

It’s gonna scar… infected…

Wild felt his body go lax as his vision blurred, and all of a sudden the hero was gone.

“It’s going to scar, there’s nothing I can do about that. It went too long untreated. We’ve taken care of the infection, though. It should heal within a week,” the nurse reported. Their voice was quiet and clinical, and their head was bowed as they gave their report. 

The Royal Captain had his arms crossed and a scowl on his face. Behind him, a curtain was drawn around another medical bed to protect Princess Zelda’s privacy. Guards were stationed at each entrance and exit from the medical tent. 

“Good. Thank you. You’re dismissed,” the captain said. The nurse nodded, gathered their supplies, and scurried out of the room. The captain’s eyes were fixed on Link the whole time, and Link had to fight with every fiber of his being to keep his back straight. 

Link wished he would just get the punishment over with. He knew he had massively screwed up protecting Zelda, and he knew the captain and the King wouldn’t be able to let that go. But he was tired, and he was in pain, and he worried about Zelda.

“I spoke with the Princess,” the captain began. Link’s eyes dropped to the floor as shame and guilt burned through his body.

The captain laid a hand on Link’s shoulder. Link couldn’t help his flinch, and he looked up at the captain with wide eyes.

“You did a commendable job protecting the Princess. I’ll make sure the King hears about it. Now, get some rest. The sooner you’re back in fighting shape the better,” the captain said. He nodded to Link, and Link pushed through his haze of confusion to nod back. The captain pushed aside the curtain and left the tent. 

Link stared blankly at the captain’s retreating form. He was expecting, at the very least, a thorough reprimand. Honestly, he was expecting much worse, but he had been sure he was going to be punished. 

The curtain ruffled again, and Link rapidly straightened his posture. He hissed in pain as he felt the stitches pull on his back. To his surprise, Zelda peeked through the curtain. She glanced to each side then rushed into the room and to his bedside.

“Link, for goodness sake, what are you doing up? You should be resting!” Zelda said, and immediately tried to push him down onto the bed. Link blinked up at her and let himself be lowered onto the bed, mind too fever-addled to come up with a rebuttal.

Once he was laying on the bed, Zelda pulled a blanket over his legs and chest. She looked very pleased with herself. “There,” she said, and lowered herself to sit on the foot of his bed. Zelda bit her lip and dropped her gaze to her lap briefly.

“The captain didn’t give you too much of a hard time, did he?” Zelda asked quietly. Link shook his head no. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Zelda quickly continued.

“I told him you risked your life to protect me. I know you don’t agree, but I told him the truth. You did absolutely everything you could, and you’re the only reason we made it here alive,” Zelda said. Link felt his cheeks heat with embarrassment. He tore his gaze from Zelda’s face and it landed on the wrappings on her sprained ankle and bandages on her leg. 

“Oh, Link. This is nothing, truly. You’re in much worse shape,” Zelda said. 

Zelda’s mouth started moving again, but Link couldn’t make out the words. He was floating, and he was nowhere and everywhere. The world reduced to a blinding white light and a high pitched noise reverberated in his ears. 

Wild came back to himself with a gasp. He closed his eyes, let his head drop into his hands, and focused on taking deep, even breaths. Emotions swirled through him faster than he could recognize. There was a pressure behind his eyes, so Wild brought his fists up to rub them harshly.

“Cub?” Twilight asked softly. 

“I’m back,” Wild whispered, voice raspy and uneven. 

“Are you alright?” Twilight asked.

“Is there a scar on my back?” Wild asked. 

“Uh…” Twilight’s voice faded off uncertainly. Wild shook his head.

“Is there another scar near the one I just got?” Wild asked. 

“Yeah, actually. Right next to it,” Twilight said. He gently traced the scar through Wild’s clothes. Wild shivered involuntarily. He pulled his cloak over his head and let himself relish in the comforting weight while he reoriented to his surroundings. 

The sun had set completely, and the moon was nearly at its peak. He had been gone for hours. The campfire crackled just to his right; Twilight must have moved him closer at some point. All the other heroes were asleep. 

“How’s Four?” Wild asked. Four was swaddled in Sky’s sailcloth and curled up into the chosen hero’s side. Sky had one arm around Four and one gripping Wind’s blanket on Four’s other side. 

“Hyrule managed to heal most of the burn, so he should recover just fine,” Twilight said. 

Wild nodded and sighed in relief. He felt too drained for much else. He was glad his actions wouldn’t have lasting consequences, at least.

“He doesn’t blame you, you know,” Twilight said. Wild didn’t answer. “Might wish you had looked before you pushed, but you saved his life.”

Wild felt something clench in his chest. His brain felt full of fog, and he couldn’t quite figure out what the feeling meant. 

“Get some rest, cub,” Twilight said. He wrapped his pelt around Wild’s shoulders and Wild greedily grasped the soft fur. Twilight pushed Wild down onto his bedroll. Wild was asleep as soon as his head hit the cushion.

[superbadgrrl]

As I lie here after an amazing weekend, I think of what could have been, and how hurt I still feel in silence because of “what could have been, would’ve been”.

 I feel personally touched by Carmella’s post a few days ago of all her worries during their current pregnancy… I couldn’t imagine the fear they felt, but I celebrate their rainbow baby 💕 all I know is how I felt finding out and being pregnant then suddenly feeling like no one was home anymore, was one of the most absolutely terrible feelings out there. 

We were so convinced we were having twins because we were the same size as a YouTuber who had them... however, it was a fibroid the size of a cantaloupe accompanying our baby, which caused a miscarriage. I had it removed for our future pregnancies, the scars reminding me every day of what happened. 

I like to believe this baby made me aware of the issue that would have caused complications with them and any future babies had I not removed it, and somehow I mentally form some sort of idea of them being some blessing in disguise that was here for a short time for its future siblings that’d be here for a long time.

I also want to extend a thank you to those who reached out and shared their experiences and I was unable to respond because I felt so personally touched by all the kind words you all sent and shared, just mentally I wasn’t and still not there to connect with the matter, and I’m sorry for feeling that way just like I feel sorry for myself for somehow feeling like this is all my fault, even when I know it is not.

[tendertenebrosity]

Had this idea last night and threw it together today. I did promise these guys some rest and recovery fluff, and this isn’t quite it but it also shows a bit of how I see their immediate future. Galen and Everet are my Dragon Age OCs, their masterpost is here.

I don’t think I have the energy to do taglists anymore, sorry, and I’m not sure half of you are even still here, so I hope the people who are here find it!

The farm Galen and Everet worked at as autumn ripened and slid gradually towards winter was a large affair. Big enough to hire a couple of dozen temporary workers to bring in the harvest; big enough to blend into the crowd, with second-hand inconspicuous clothing acquired for them both and Everet’s templar gear stashed out in the forest.

Today had been a long day, tiring and monotonous but not in an unpleasant way. The farmer’s daughters set up trestle tables in the barn and laid out food; plain fare, but good. There weren’t enough benches or chairs so people wandered around with food in hand a lot.

Everet tapped his fingers on the wood of a nearby bench, humming to himself to the whisper of lyrium that nobody else could hear. Galen had went out the other day and gotten Everet’s lyrium for the week, so the song was loud tonight. Somebody had had a fiddle out earlier for real music, but nobody had much energy for it tonight, so the barn had emptied rapidly once the food had been put away.

Unusually rapidly, to be perfectly honest.

Everet looked around, alerted by the sudden quiet. While he’d been wool-gathering, the barn had emptied strangely. The only people left in here were him and the foreman, and… two other men who positioned themselves to either side as he approached.

Lyrium surged under Everet’s skin, but he quieted it. He stood up, his heart starting to beat fast. Where was Galen?

“Long day, huh?” he said, keeping his tone casual. “I’d best be finding my bed.”

He went to brush past the three men towards the door, knowing that they’d stop him but needing to try.

One of the other men – the foreman’s son, maybe, taller than Everet - pushed him back with a palm on his chest. The second closed the door very firmly and came to stand nearby, arms crossed.

“Sit down, Everet,” the foreman said, heavily, coming up behind his son. A heavyset man in his fifties with a salt-and-pepper beard, he’d always seemed fair and even-handed to Everet. “We need to talk.”

Everet felt the lyrium rush again, singing in his ears and humming in his limbs. He could take these people, probably. Yeah, they were big, muscled from working the land year-round. But they didn’t have lyrium. And they didn’t have a decade of templar training, even if Everet had gotten a bit rusty lately. He pictured in his head what it would take to swing forward, grab that man’s wrist, break his arm, swing him around and into the other one -

But that would not help, and it wasn’t the most pressing problem.

“Where’s Galen?” he demanded, hearing the fear in his own voice. Galen didn’t normally slip away during the evenings. They’d engineered this, which meant somebody else had Galen somewhere. “If you’ve - ”

“Galen is out helping Sam and Callie with the equipment,” the foreman said. “He doesn’t know about this, and he’s not going to be back for a half hour or so. So you might as well sit down.”

Everet hissed a breath between his teeth, considering. Helping Sam and Callie. He eyed the short distance towards the door, discounted it. There might still be a way to get out of this without conflict; but not if Everet did something stupid. Best to see what this was about. Maybe Everet could throw them off the scent.

The town hadn’t seemed hostile. Not like that place they’d been to last month, with the ragged corpse in robes hung up by the road near the town sign. Or even like the place before that, with the man in the bar waving the templar pamphlets. None of the other men and women here had made any anti-mage comments while they worked. Everet had started to feel almost safe here; he knew Galen had too.

If they’ve hurt him they’ll pay, Everet thought. Empty threats to nobody.

He took a step back, and sank down to sit on the rough wooden bench, doing his best to look earnestly bewildered. “What’s going on?”

The foreman and his muscle didn’t sit; they just loomed.

The foreman sighed. “Everet... I didn’t ask you and Galen many questions when you showed up and took this job. Everybody needs to live, you’re good workers, whatever. But there’s some things we don’t tolerate here.”

“I’m… glad to hear it?” Everet said, his hands clamped onto his knees. He’s going to ask you if Galen is a mage, and you need to look convincing when you say no, the idea is ludicrous, why would you think that.

“When folks stripped off the other day for a swim after the morning shift,” the foreman said. “Several of the boys couldn’t help noticing that Galen has an awful lot of scars for a young man.”

Everet caught his breath, blindsided for a moment. That wasn’t what he’d expected to hear. Was this still…?

“Yeah, I guess,” he managed. “He doesn’t like to talk about them much.”

“We know,” the foreman’s son said, still looming beside his father. He eyed Everet with obvious dislike. “When I asked, he didn’t say anything much. But he did look over the stream at you.”

“What -”

The foreman held up a hand to stop both Everet and his son from talking. He looked grim. “Look, I’ll be blunt. Did you give him any of those scars? Or the bruises, the more recent ones?”

“I – no!” Everet protested. “No, why would I do that?”

“I don’t know either, but the fact remains some men do,” the foreman said. “Now, I don’t really care what else is up with you. If you are lovers you don’t seem to want anyone to know, which is fine. I don’t care.”

“We’re not - ”

“I don’t even really want to know if you’re rogue mages, or deserting from the army, or on the run from the law, or whatever.” The foreman gave a dismissive wave. “We’re a small community. Unless you want to go all the way into Shornvale, the law here consists of the mayor and the watchman and a couple of locals, including me. It’s not worth our time to chase up people who aren’t hurting anyone. So unless you steal from or hurt somebody else under our roof, the boss and I don’t care.”

Everet tried not to flinch at rogue mages. The two other workers didn’t seem to react to that statement either; they just stood there, one of them nodding in agreement.

The foreman met Everet’s eyes squarely. His voice was quiet and even. “But we look after our own. Some of those marks look like they come from a hot knife-blade, and they’re lined up all deliberate-like. And that, I care about.”

The deserted barn was silent for a moment. Everet’s mind felt like it was darting in all directions, the lyrium prickle under his skin insisting he get up and DO something. They didn’t think Galen was a mage. But if he was they wouldn’t care. But they thought Everet had hurt him?

“I didn’t know that,” Everet said, too loud into the silence. His stomach squirmed. “About – about the knife marks.” I never looked at the shape. You can tell that’s what they’re from? Why did I never think to look at that? How do you know what that looks like and I don’t?

The foreman was nodding thoughtfully. His eyes hadn’t left Everet. “Have you ever hurt Galen?”

“No! Maker, no!” Everet shook his head. Well, that was a lie, a voice whispered at the back of his mind. You would never hurt Galen any more. You’re different now. Tell them that and see what they think? He did his best to squash the voice. That wasn’t what they were asking about and he knew it. “Is that – that’s why you got Galen off somewhere by himself? So you could ask us both this?”

“Yeah, Callie was going to talk to him,” the foreman’s son said.“See if he says something different when you aren’t glued to his side.”

So Galen was fine. Galen was fine, had never been in danger, they’d come for Everet here because he was the one they were suspicious of. Everet felt tension leave his shoulders.

Which was probably premature. Everet was still confident he could take these men in a fight, but this was a problem that needed to be solved with words, and Everet wasn’t much good at that. And he didn’t want them to have to leave this job before they had to; they’d been counting on having it until winter came.

“Look, you, um, you’ve misunderstood,” Everet said, trying to smile ruefully. “We’re not… we’re travelling together as friends, that’s all.”

The foreman shrugged, unfazed. “All right. Question still stood.”

“Yeah, no, that’s… I understand,” Everet said. He shook his head. “I can see why you’d… worry.”

“So where did the scars come from, then?” the foreman’s son asked. He was still looking at Everet with undisguised suspicion.

Everet hesitated – which, yeah, possibly looked suspicious, but not much he could do about that. If these people are fine with mages, maybe it’d be OK if I told them the truth? Even just that it was templars, which wouldn’t necessarily mean Galen was a mage – Maker knew, the Order had started harassing enough ordinary folk.

But just because the foreman ‘didn’t care’, didn’t mean nobody here did. And that was something to clear with Galen first.

“If Galen wants you to know,” he said slowly. “I guess he’ll probably tell you himself when he feels like it.”

The younger man looked unsatisfied, but his father forestalled him with a hand again.

“I think that’s fair,” he said. He stepped back, gesturing for the other man to do the same with a jerk of his head. “We’ll see whether he wanted to talk to Callie about anything. If he wants to stay here without you, Everet, then I intend to let him. And if he wants to leave without you, we’ll make that work too.”

“And – if he wants us both want to stay?” Everet asked. He stood up, rubbed a hand over the back of his neck awkwardly. “Of course, you’ll ask him, but I think he’ll want that. We don’t want any trouble, and…”

The foreman nodded. “Of course, if nothing’s awry, you’ll both stay out the season,” he said. “Hopefully there’s no hard feelings. When you’ve been around as long as I have, you’ll realise that even normal-seeming people are capable of some pretty nasty things, so a community’s got to be vigilant.”

“Oh, yeah,” Everet agreed, unexpectedly fervent. “They are. You’re right. No problem.”

“All right. You’d better find your bed, then. Lot of work to do in the morning.”

Galen was later to bed than Everet. If they got beds where they were working, it was usually a communal arrangement, all the farmhands together in a couple of rooms. If it was possible, Galen always took the bed that let him have his back to the wall and Everet in between him and the rest of the room.

Which, now that Everet thought about it, possibly did look a bit… controlling, if you didn’t know it was Galen choosing their spots. It was relevant tonight because it meant Galen had to climb over the top of Everet to get to his straw pallet.

“Hey,” Everet mumbled, awoken from his doze.

“Hey,” Galen responded, barely louder than a breath. “Awake?”

“Eh, enough.” Everet rolled over to face Galen. The person on his other side was snoring gently, but Everet was used to that. His old bunk-mate during training had been worse.

“I’m guessing you had a very awkward conversation after dinner as well.”

“I wouldn’t call mine a conversation so much as a confrontation,” Everet murmured. “Hope yours wasn’t too bad.”

“No, everything’s fine.” Galen rustled as he settled into bed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “That’s my fault. I should… be more circumspect, maybe.”

“No, I don’t think so. The foreman’s… a decent man. Looking out for you. I think you’re pretty safe,” Everet said, conscious of the fact that the handful of people behind him were only probably asleep. He didn’t say the word mage. “We should… talk more in the morning,”

Galen yawned. “Sure thing. Night.”

[nightfallsystem-moved]

i lose a tiny bit of my soul everytime i have to tw my own body

[daggersandarrows]

This is probably going to sound so weird but sometimes I mentally run over each of the scars on my body and repeat to myself the name of the animal who put them there. Bumble, Turkey, Sunny, Lotus, Khoshekh. The skin that was there when they broke it might be long gone but my body remembers them anyway.

[m0tel6mxzzy]

tw sh ment //

tbh if i had the option i’d get cute little hello kitty and cinnamoroll tattoos over my healed scars bc i’m very done and removed from that old part of my life and i’d like something different to think about. just small little minimal ones. the person i was from 12-17 and the person i am now are completely different ppl and i’d like to enter my healing era something something be soft but take no shit such n such