#BACKSTORY SCARS

[arvencacklethorn]

Let's see..

The eyebrow scar that has a matching friend under the same eye.. it's from a cat I was holding getting scared by a noise and subsequently jumping onto my face, thankfully missing my actual eyeball

The one on my thumb from opening a can of corn poorly

The lightning-shaped scar across my knee from running into a cheap door and smashing halfway through it as a toddler

The v-shaped one that looks like it was carved into my ankle.. was from dropping a glass bowl on the ground when I was four

Some random sets of lines here and there from cat claws, or other scratches

Small burns on the hands and forearms from ovens and scalding hot water

Two light, circular scars on my neck that look charmingly like a faded vampire bite, from a one-week summer trip to the forests of Minnesota..

i think its funny how facial scars are seen as like a major character plot point where they reveal that someone tried to kill their dad or something when i know a ton of ppl (including myself) who have facial scars bc they rlly arent uncommon and all of them are like. from tripping and falling as a toddler

[fishblade-koi]

Sorry I just miss the sillies...

[aurorangen]

They say everything happens for a reason

Transcript & Bonus:

Could she be?

...

[In those two years at sixth form, Nancy didn't completely disappear from my life. We kept in touch since her number was the same. That was until she stopped messaging altogether. Maybe she was busy with culinary school. Maybe her phone broke. It left me desperate to see her again, concerned that something happened]

[She never told me her address though, so maybe she lived with her parents. Location-wise, all I knew was what school she was attending. I found myself frequenting the place in hopes of an unforeseen encounter with her. Like that day, I sat there studying my notes, occasionally looking up when I saw any passerby]

[I ended up scrolling through our messages, hoping to ignite the memories ready for when we meet. If we do meet. I messaged her, put my phone away then it vibrated. I looked in dismay at the notification]

[I was frustrated at myself for losing track of time. I didn't want to leave a bad impression by being late, my studies were a top priority. So I rushed there. But sometimes fate intervenes in ways you never thought it would. Like meeting Renee. When I first saw her, she looked so familiar as if I had known her all my life]

[As I tried to guess where I'd seen her before, it dawned on me that she looked like Charlie. We must have been staring at each other for a while, but I couldn't take my eyes off her. She averted her gaze, kept failing to hide her staring and I thought that was kinda…cute. I couldn't hide my smile any longer]

...

Vincent: Uhh...

[puppppppppy]

my brothers been playing elden ring recently and he let me draw his character ^_^

[tinukis]

im rereading one piece (i'll watch certain arcs too as i get into OP again)

and man i forget how much i loved the baratie arc especially seeing how luffy and sanji first interact... "i refuse your refusal!" is so good and while bickering like an old married couple, they both yell at gin simultaneously i love them so much

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Regret & Rememberance || Grieving!Ghost

Rating: M + DDNE Words: 2.9K~ Pairing: Gravekeeper!Reader x Grieving!Ghost CW: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT., death, child death, mourning/grief, canon 09 ghost backstory, dissociation, cemetery/graveyard, graves/headstones. Tags: you/your pronouns, gn!reader, angst, flower language/symbolism, hurt/comfort, platonic relationship. Summary: A hobby of yours causes you to cross paths with an undead man. a/n: for those who care about flower meanings, like me... ;)

You started volunteering at one of the local cemeteries after putting in a request with the town hall.

It was a simple thing, really. You were just providing extra help to the ground's keepers who did little else but mow the grass, trim the trees and bushes, and blast away leaves and dirt from the headstones and pathways with a hose.

You bought your own supplies with the help of a small voucher the town hall provided you, and then you went and cleaned the headstones at the cemetery.

You quite liked doing it. You always liked cleaning and polishing things until they were squeaky clean. And so, you'd carefully remove moss and overgrowth, and wash the engraved lettering in the old graves, and, sometimes, out of your own dime, you'd use a small paint brush and a little jar of enamel paint to fill in the lettering and make it readable again.

It was a passion project for you; you enjoyed seeing the graves come back to their original (or as close as you could get it) state, and even read up on funeral/cemetery/work/life records at the town hall to find out who was who.

It was peaceful, almost therapeutic. You tended to pick the times when you knew the cemetery would be mostly empty and you'd go row-by-row, eyeing the older graves and seeking out the ones that need caring.

It was during one of those times that you saw him for the first time.

As you meandered about, carrying a small caddie of cleaning supplies in one hand, and pulling the hood of your waterproof parka over your head with the other, you notice him.

It was a very lazy Saturday afternoon. Wintertime, Christmas had been just three days before. The sun was hidden behind dark clouds, giving the cemetery and even darker and gloomier atmosphere, the rain showering down over the entire city of Manchester.

He was tall, so, so tall, and with shoulders so wide and arms so thick, even below the hoodie he's wearing... And yet he looked so small, as he looked on at the graves at his feet...

You knew those graves, you'd memorized the majority. It was the Riley family. A really big tragedy, a recent one, just the year before, on Christmas Eve. The news had said the house burned down because of a faulty heater, and killed everyone, including a little boy.

You settled at a grave not far from him and regarded the man with knitted brows, trying to sneak a glance under his hoodie, maybe catch his eye, and offer him a smile and some courage... But underneath, he might was well have been a void.

The dark clouds and atmosphere only made it that his face was nearly completely shrouded in darkness, and the dark scarf wrapped around his neck and hiked up to cover his nose and mouth certainly didn't help.

You knelt by the grave you were going to clean and began removing the cleaning supplies from your caddie, grabbing a small bench scraper so you could remove the moss growing on the front face of the grave.

But before you began, you couldn't help but sneak a glance at the man again. He must have felt watched, however, because he turned his head toward you and from underneath his hood, all you saw were a few short blonde hairs peeking out.

You tried to do exactly what you intended, offering him a small smile and a nod... And then turned away to properly working, trying to give him space, or respect... You tried. Really. But... something about him... In less than a minute, you looked over again.

And he was gone without a trace. Looking around, you saw no tall, dark figures speed-walking away.

For some reason, a chill went down your spine when you noticed you were alone again... Almost like he had been a ghost, a figure of your imagination...

-

You saw him a lot more times after that. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him. Or, at least, you were pretty sure it was a Him.

You'd arrive and he'd already be there, almost like he timed it perfectly every time.

Never a word exchanged, though you looked at him from a distance and, sometimes, he looked at you too.

He'd always leave a small flower arrangement between the center two graves. Purple hyacinths, white chrysanthemums, and black dahlias.

And then he'd leave not long after you arrived.

Sometimes you wondered if you being there made him leave... If he wanted to avoid being there when you were, to avoid being stared at. But you couldn't help yourself from staring.

Truth be told, you'd go long weeks without seeing him, but he'd always come back...

And when he did come back, he'd come pay the graves a visit multiple times a week for a few weeks...

Whenever he wasn't there, you dared to venture toward the grave and gaze upon, especially right after he had left... And you'd pay you respects to the family buried there...

-

Sitting in the public library attached to the town hall, you carefully combed through the cemetery records of the last year, with a hot tea beside you.

Riley. There it is.

Obituary notices for five members of the same family, on the same date.

Joanna Riley, née Pearson, aged 57. Thomas Riley, aged 33. Beth Riley, aged 32. Joseph Riley, aged 4. and Simon Riley, aged 37.

Two mothers, and their three sons. An innocent child in the middle of it all. All killed by an accidental fire, with a starting point on a faulty heater, right before an important holiday.

Their obituaries said that Joanna had worked in a textile factory for most of her life, Thomas was a cook at a restaurant, Beth was an esthetician and Simon was a... soldier.

You looked at the pictures attached to the obituary, of each of them... So alive, so... free. Pictures taken from Facebook profiles or school records, in Joseph's case... All of them with big happy smiles...

Joanna had big eye bags, but she had wrinkles in the corners of her blue eyes, and deep smile lines, like she'd spent a lifetime laughing... Her hair was already fully grey, cut into a bob with a fringe.

Thomas was thin, and had prominent cheekbones and a dip in the cheeks themselves, as well as deep eyebags with bulging eyes, but a surprisingly pleasant smile on his face. He was a blonde.

Beth's picture showed that her nose tended to scrunch whenever she smiled, her dirty blonde, nearly brown hair, was hair tied back into a bun and a fringe falling over her blue eyes.

Little Joseph had a toothy grin and was wearing a school uniform, his blonde hair swept to the side by a comb and his blue eyes sparkling... You found your lip trembling at the thought that, perhaps, that was his first day of kindergarten picture...

And, lord, Simon Riley... He was halfway through winking when the picture was taken. He had the warmest brown eyes and the smuggest little smirk on his lips as he held Joseph in his arms, whose face had been partially cropped out of the picture, but clearly was mirroring his uncle, while holding a little teddy bear with a blue bow around its neck.

It made you sad, to see those pictures. Sadder than when you researched all the other graves' you've cleaned. Many of them included children too... But something... something about those kind faces...

-

You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Maybe a family friend?

A distant cousin?

Maybe someone from Beth's side of the family, since she's a blonde and the stranger is too?

You hadn't dared approach him, striking a conversation but you were so full of questions.

Was it wrong to be so curious about a stranger who's only at the funeral to mourn and pay respects? (Definitely.)

You wanted to ask him everything.

Who is he?

Why does he come visit at the worst times and days, when it's rainy and dark, and empty?

Why does he disappear so often for weeks at a time?

Why does he keep coming back?

Someone had to pay for the funeral arrangements, after all... Maybe it was him. Maybe he's family.

Why else would he casually drop £200 worth of arrangements on the graves every time he comes?

...

Truth be told, you hadn't seen him in nearly two months. It was the longest it'd gone since coming to visit.

Around Christmas of the following year, and he hadn't come to see the graves... and you knew that for certain. Not only did you not cross paths with him, but there were no flowers at the graves.

Could it perhaps be that he's trying to move on?

Or maybe something happened to him?

You hated to think of the possibility that the stranger could've given up, moved away, or died himself.

Worse, it made your heart ache...

So you made a choice. One of those times before you went in to clean another grave, you stopped by the florist around the corner.

Dropping nearly as much money as he usually did in a gigantic arrangement, a couple of candles, you wobbled into the cemetery again.

-

Simon Ghost sat on his bed in the shitty flat he was renting from a nice old lady who didn't ask too many questions.

It was barely a flat, more so a cramped tin of sardines that the council allowed to be called a 'studio' because it had enough space to fit a bed, a counter, fridge and stove, and had an attached bathroom.

He had just gotten clearance from the military hospital to be able to walk around without his crutches and just his cast boot, and good thing too.

Christmas had been days ago and he hadn't gone to visit the graves just yet... he could feel the need to see them scratching in the back of his head, trying to get out, digging into his bowns..

After succeeding in tying the laces on his regular boot, he pushed himself up to his feet, a bit shaky and unsure as he attempted to shift his weight around.

But, after succeeding, he wobbled over to his small wardrobe, grabbing his usual hoodie and scarf combo, pulling them on.

He pondered about opening a window to air out the flat, the scent of hair bleach and chemicals still lingering in the air... But he decided against it.

He left the flat and locked the door, then carefully limped his way to the bus stop beside his block of flats.

...

It was already getting dark when he made it to the cemetery and past the gate, carefully limping his way to the graves.

He looked around the graveyard with narrowed eyes, seeking you out. He wondered if you were around, if you were also looking for him, or if you didn't even notice he had been gone.

Had he still been Simon, he would've already gone up to you, struck up a conversation... and he would now too, joke about how he'd been 'slacking off', mutter some nonsense of 'working hard/hardly working'...

And yet he wasn't Simon.

'Simon' was buried in the grave he was going to now visit and, unlike the rest of the Riley family, he was getting no pity.

Not like mum, Beth, Tommy and Joseph... And yet no one but Ghost was ever there to pity them, to mourn them. And once he was gone, no one would even remember them.

They deserved better than what they got. They didn't what happened to them. They didn't deserve a death that gruesome...

And t was thanks to Simon that they were dead in the first place. He didn't deserve any pity.

Ghost would not mourn Simon. Ever.

...

And yet, as he approached the graves, the large arrangement he always brought with him, tucked under his arm, Ghost stopped in his tracks.

A beautiful light arrangement sat in the same exact spot he usually placed his own... right between Tommy's and mum's headstones. It was light and feminine and... cute. A stark difference to his own, dark and moody.

He crouched in front of the graves, setting aside his own arrangement and, very carefully so, running a trembling hand over the petals of the flowers. Fresh, not just from the recent rain, but from being a recent addition. Maybe only a day or two old.

A mix of pink and white carnations, an overwhelming amount of baby's breath, and some kind of herb stems wrapped around them.

Carefully, Ghost plucked one of the stems of the herb and brought it up to his nose to smell it. The scent of chemicals from his hair bleach didn't make identifying the scent any easier, but, after a moment, he realized it was rosemary.

Rising to his feet and looking around once more, Ghost sought you out again, trying to find the sight of you hunched over, scrubbing away at one headstone or another. No sign of you.

Looking down at the graves again, his eyes got drawn to something out of the corner of his eye. A small statue that had not been bought by him, leaning against Beth and Joseph's shared grave.

A brown ceramic teddy bear... with a baby blue ribbon around his neck.

Just like the one he'd bought in a Poundland when coming back from deployment, in a hurry, after Tommy had called him to let him know Beth had gone into labour... not wanting to show up empty-handed at the hospital.

It had become Joseph's favourite toy, he'd sleep holding it, would drag it along behind him as he learned to walk, and would take it to kindergarten every day.

"Fuck..." Ghost hissed as he fell to his knees in front of the graves, his fingers digging into the wet grass and his eyes closing as his whole form was racked by sobs.

-

You didn't know how long he'd been there. But he was soaking wet, dripping all over, on his hands and knees, hiccuping and crying at the foot of the graves.

You noted the way his leg was in a cast inside a black boot, which helped ease your worries that he hadn't given up on coming, he'd just been unable to for a while.

Swallowing your fear, you bounded up to him, holding your umbrella protectively over the two of you as you stopped by his side.

He looked the smallest you'd ever seen him...

Taking a deep breath, you slowly crouched beside him and placed a hand on his broad shoulder, feeling him shudder, his breath hitching, audible even through the wind and the aggressive pitter-patter of the rain on your umbrella.

"Breathe... It's okay..." You murmured as you looked at him. "Breathe."

The man took a deep, ragged breath, shuddering with each one, his arms, impossibly strong, trembling and struggling to hold him above the grass which was now essentially more mud than grass.

"I'm sorry if I overstepped." You murmured and tilted your head so you could peek below his hoodie, to check on him.

Bad choice on your part, because only then did you notice that his scarf had been loosened by him, to allow him to breathe, revealing his face.

He was deformed, badly so. His cheeks were hollow and cut through by a jagged Glasgow smile, and his skin so red and blemished, you'd think he had been burned alive at one point in his life.

Those were no ordinary scars... from a small injury, or an accident... They were too precise, not random... Those were... inflicted on him.

He didn't reply, nor did he try to cover his face or turn away, he just shuddered more, hiccuping and sniffling amidst his tears.

"I hadn't seen you in a while..." You told him gently. "I was... worried that you'd never come back." You admitted. "So... I figured I should look after them for you."

He gulped, audibly so, deep in his throat. For a while he didn't speak though his lips pushed and pulled like he was chewing on his cheek, looking for how to answer.

"Thank you." He murmured, his voice gruff and raspy, the words sounding like they had been eating away at him, gnawing at his bones.

"Do you... want me to toss it all out?" You asked slowly, watching as he thrashed his head side to side and sniffled again, hissing through clenched teeth.

"N-No..." He replied and took a hulking breath, like it was the most difficult thing he'd ever done.

"Okay..." You added and nodded solemnly. "Want me to help you up... because of your foot?" You offered.

"No... I've got it." He added with a nod and swallowed the lump in his throat as he closed his hands into fists to keep himself from lying on the dirt.

You paused and looked between him and the graves. "I'll leave you be, then..." You replied and turned to collect your cleaning supply caddie from the path beside you...

Only for one of his hands to suddenly catch your bicep and stop you, which caused you to freeze. "Stay..." He pleaded as you slowly turned to face him again.

His face was turned toward you as well. His eyes were red and swollen from crying, his nose had a deviated septum, and his whole face was riddled with scars and blemishes...

And yet those brown eyebrows of his... and those brown eyes... the way they stared at you... Sorrowful, afraid, hurt but... warm... You remembered seeing them, in that fucking obituary notice months ago...

Sure he was a blonde and very deformed but... this was Simon Riley.

You were looking a dead man right in the eyes.

[catz4ever]

MY GOD.

DON'T GET ME WRONG I LOVE THE SCARS BUT SAM COULD PLAY A FAIR-FORM ELF ANY DAY.

OH. MY. OVARIES.

[lady-raziel]

guys….meet Arthur

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

and if i said suguru’s relationship with weakness (’the preciousness of the weak, the ugliness of the weak’) was born out of his feelings towards his mother …

[pintura]

He did not want a body. But she asked him to come. He left a scar when he burned her off his face.

[asterysart]

hey remember those wips from months ago? neither do i [holds up the men in black pen]

anyway hi my take on pokespe silver as an adult more like [slaps his back like a car salesman] this bad boy can fit so many poor decisions in him

[aurorangen]

"I was a lost guy on a lost ship, but there she was every time I looked up. Renee, the sunshine of my life."

Transcript & Bonus:

...And what if this pain comes back again?

...

[Eventually, I stopped thinking about Nancy. There was no communication on her part and it felt like a one sided effort, where I was the only one who believed we would meet again. Time drifted us apart and I ended up lost in the vast sea of my thoughts. Did all the moments that we spent together mean anything to her?]

[Nancy must have moved on and decided to end everything by ghosting me. I was only her first love and nothing more, so naturally, my heart sank. All this time, I was salvaging a relationship that had ceased to exist. But time helped to steer me in the right direction and to move on from her too]

[I focused on finding myself again, through university and my friends. And there was Renee. Renee…I didn't know when it started, I couldn't help it…but I was falling for her. At first, we spent more time together as friends. I made no moves, except that time when I called her cute. The words just flowed out of my mouth]

[I was a lost guy on a lost ship, but there she was every time I looked up. Renee, the sunshine of my life. How I want to see her every morning. The way she brightens my day. My ray of hope during hard times. A beautiful soul inside and out. I wanted to tell her my feelings soon, but I was afraid of rejection…and heartbreak]

[When debate day came, I was fully prepared for it. And when they announced that I had won, all I could think about was telling Renee. Amid all the chatter and congratulations, I excused myself to go and find her]

[As soon as I saw Renee, I picked her up and spun her around. Then out of nowhere] Renee: Vince, I think I'm falling in love with you. [My words escaped from her mouth and I just wanted to kiss her]

...

Nancy: [quietly to herself after recognising Vincent from afar, tone changing from optimism to despair] Vincent??? Ohh…so you've found someone new [sighs] I'm happy for you. [blinks away her tears] I guess that's why you've been avoiding my messages. I was waiting for you all this time…

...

I admit this post was hard to create. I just didn't know how to approach it. I'm not the biggest fan of how my reblogged Vincent posts were executed, like there should be stuff in between to build it up. I ditched the idea of making them separate posts in the backstory (they are small unnecessary events). So I ended up working my way around that and summarised things here. Then I was able to write my text and I became inspired by all this lost at-sea terminology! Now the Nancy reveal at the end, I'm throwing a 360 at you! Turns out she has been waiting all along and thought VINCENT hadn't been replying to her because HE moved on (see this? Same as what Vincent thought). Miscommunication. Or something must have happened to one of their phones, right? All I'm saying is this situation sounds way too familiar (spoiler).

[rileys-battlecats]

what if I put mudpaw into my human ocs story.....just as a silly little cameo. let him be a background character for once HAHA

[justalittleguest]

Decided to post this since I stayed up for it

[lunaticpsyker08]

A wolf with a cold touch 💜💜✨

[spookymoonz]

Scars