Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wilde takes pause in buttoning his shirt, it's a cruel thing. Very befitting of having been pierced though the heart, he imagines hamid has a similar one. It's strange. The first scar your body suffers, when your body no longer a map of your past misery, a clean, untouched canvas.
he mourns for the memories they took with them, the scar on his shoulder from a young boy playing with his sister, thought himself clever then to climb the biggest tree in their garden, but not clever enough to remember gravity exists, he reckons he hit every branch on his way down. His sister was terrified, she ran back to the house. screaming at the top of her little lungs for their mum's help. Leaving wilde to lay on the wet, muddy floor in completely silence, nothing flicking though his mind, only the sharp ache of a broken bone. The scars from one to many close calls with the enemy, sometimes magic falls short against a blade. One can't be fantastic all time, it would be exhausting. One of the numerous drew backs of working with the meritocracy.
The small little one on his wrist, the story darkly tied to that one of a young man trying something he heard helps you feel in control, and God, did he need it. He kicked it out when the pain became too great. He still flinches when he's shown a straight razor. He guesses that scar will always remain, no matter how many times his body is reborn.
The deep, smile curling one. Maybe some he's overjoyed to see the back of.
He died, again. He felt the tip of the cold sword pierced his flesh, heard the zolf's breath escaping his lungs in a panic, zolf sounded just like his sister, wilde's last real thought could have been. Turns out loving a cleric and being loved in return by him has it perks.
The bone breaking hug after the fight, is one of them, the whispered "I thought I'd lost you again" and "You're never getting rid of me that easily "another. The unshed tears lining their eyes and the gentle pass of lips. Another still.