#tw // scar

[peterokii]

yeah its my rendering style and not that i accidentally merged all the layers midway through and just kept going - happy belated bday bakugo !!

[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.

[potat0bag]

heya, i know I rarely draw fuzzy shiver anymore. hope nobody’s upset about that ^^ here’s their aftermath scar!!

[braverytattoos]

Louis showing off his scar

[pngjamie]

Lonely King

what a monster you've made

[puddleonthefloor]

Whiteboard doodles!

a lil bit of grapeduo and chodark cause they've grown to be my favorite ships

mainly grapeduo cause of a slowburn fic i read recently

[raisans-art]

YOU DREW RESIDENT EVIL STUFF-

*que onslaught of requests for leon in skimpy outfits* -but ignoring that, ETHAN MY BELOVED. he and mia deserve more art, they are so skrunkly.

weird crossover but imagine the subway bosses *extreme concern* when he's just like "pokemon? weird creatures with abilities? i guess that would be me" *removes hand*

Ask and yee shall receive! I added an Ethan for additional enjoyment =w= I am a big fan of Ethan but Leon is just so fail girl

And tbh I think Ethan meeting Pokemon for the first time would pan out something like this

He doesn’t hurt anything, but man is on a hair trigger at all times XD strange mutant looking creature that has the potential to be dangerous is a tune he’s heard too many times

[writing-hat]

the beauty of a scar

this is a plasma scene I'm never going to use and/or a fic I'm never going to continue.

@tornoleander @kunshokunsho there you go!!

/!\ TW /!\ : a bit of blood and talk about a scar

(and uh mistakes and all since I didn't really pay attention when writing sorry)

He tried again.

With shaky fingers, he brought the tissue reeking of alcohol to his brow and cheek, hissing when it made contact with the wound. It had already been patched up, but it seemed like it had decided to be unreasonable tonight, forcing him to wake up to a burning sort of pain around his eye. Only to find it bleeding again, some stitches undone.

He knew he should’ve at least waken Zane up to help him out, but he couldn’t.

Not when he was a mess taking care of this one thing.

It was supposed to be a scar already. Why was it opening again?!

He had hoped this rage would’ve been stronger then the sadness inside, but the way his throat tightened, and the salty tears that kept flooding out proved him it wasn’t the case. Therefore, he had decided to take care of it in the kitchen, away and sort of hidden from the others. Since, if had chosen the bathroom, anyone could’ve seen him cry for this stupid wound.

But he couldn’t help it.

It was ugly. And it was made to stay with him forever.

He cared about his appearance. And this? This was just the worst that could’ve happened.

A wound on his face. On his eye. Cutting his eyebrow in half, and letting him with the worst reflection that could’ve ever been. With a sort of pink flesh that revealed through the cut, almost pulsing to his eyes as if to mock him of his incompetence at protecting the most important part of his body.

He had never minded scars, when they were on the rest of his body.

But this?

It was…

Horrible.

He let go of the cloth again, his hands too unstable to do the job, and he sobbed, passing the back of his hand under his runny nose. He hated that. He hated everything.

How was he supposed to look at himself in a mirror after that?

“Kai?”

He jumped out of his skin, and swore, turning around to see who found him.

It was Jay, standing in the doorway with a controller in his hand. He was wearing some kinds of ugly blue and purple pants, and a big sweatshirt, keeping him away from the cold’s harm.

The fire ninja winced; he had completely forgotten it was his favorite game’s tournament lately, forcing him to stay awake late at night to train for the next day. His hair were a mess, and bags under his eyes he was pretty sure he had never even seen Nya with.

Quickly, he wiped the traces of tears under his eyes, biting the inside of his mouth when he passed his palm on his stitches.

“J- Jay.” He cleared his throat. “What do you need-”

“What’s wrong?”

He frowned, looking away from the blue ninja. “Nothing. I’m just redoing some of my stitches.”

“You’re a bad liar when you cry.”

The voice sounded closer, which helped him diminish his surprise when Jay was already next to him, taking in how he looked. He looked tired himself, but concern was clearly visible on his features. He took a stool, and sat next to Kai, determined this time to make him talk.

“What’s actually going on?”

Kai’s lower lip shook, in front of those blue eyes, before he crumbled, and spilled everything out. “It’s horrible.” He didn’t fight the tears that fell down, showing the still bleeding mark with his fingers. “It’s another ugly ass mark that’s never going to leave, and I fucking hate it-”

He was interrupted by the other passing his thumbs under his eyes, getting rid of the tears there, effectively turning his noises into some sort of quiet sniffles with that gentle touch.

Suddenly, Jay’s face was inches from his, blue eyes watching him in an intensity he had only seen him with when it came to video games before. One would think the bags under his eyes would’ve made it look worst, but here, it only added to something close to what Kai felt when it came to witnessing natural beauty from celebrities.

Before he could ask any question, or wonder if the scar was that bad, Jay kissed his eyebrow.

The red ninja’s face suddenly lived up to his color, as the careful lips tried to share with him reassurance, as much as he could. He didn’t move all the while, too scared to suddenly break this moment Jay had created to make him feel comfortable- among other things.

Not that the lightning ninja realized that, obviously.

There was a slight sting, as well, that came with a touched wound barely starting to scar, yet nothing too big. In any other circumstances, he knew he would’ve done something to whine or blame Jay for hurting him too much when there was barely any touch shared. But it wasn’t the case here.

And he enjoyed that. He could feel his muscles relaxing, and quickly enough, his eyes closing for the brief second this eternal moment happened.

All too soon, Jay backed up a bit, probably unaware of how intimate that kiss had felt to Kai. Some of the blood from the reopening had been smeared, he could both feel it on his brow, and see it on the brunet’s lips, almost comically painting the middle of his lips.

The moment was suddenly brought back when Jay smiled, smug of his initiative.

“Does it feel better?”

Kai strangled himself with his words. Was Jay aware?! Was he just playing with Kai?! Or was he on another plane of existence, dozing off and probably thinking he was imagining to himself this very situation with the fire ninja?

Slowly, he tried to come back to himself and answer the question, but with the ability to find words stolen from him, he merely nodded. Jay snickered, like the asshole that he was, earning some sort of groan from the other.

“I think your scar is beautiful.”

And with that, he straightened up, walking away and leaving a very flustered fire ninja to sit alone in the kitchen, with a wound barely patched up.

He tentatively brought shaky fingers up, touching the wound. He hissed when his burning fingers made contact, yet that pleasant tingle seemingly stayed, as if the other had gifted him some kinds of sparkles to make it feel better.

And at the very least, it seemed like it wasn’t bleeding anymore.

[thundersbugs]

hiiii tunglr today i present you totally platonic non homoerotic video gaming

sketch under the cut oml its kinda bad. but i like sketching traditionally more

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

For the 10th and final one, we have @tlj218 's OC! 🥳

Now this is a challenge! I don't know if those are scars or not, but from the references, I think those are! 😱 He's been through some hardcore stuff.

Anyway, thank you for requesting and hope you love it! (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

OC submission is closed. The users (And their respective OC's drawn) are completely random using an online spinning wheel.

[peterokii]

i reworked my alive marco design from 2021

[fbpsdumbtklblog]

art dump of stuff i forgor to post here cuz ive been focusing on a tkl discord server recently and only put these there

(spoiler alert its just lightbrush and fanbrush lol)

.

.

.

.

[mod-autumn]

Lyn in that dress

[dirtd0g]

What y’all heard: “We’re gonna be a real family”

What I heard: Dad bod Kazuki confirmed

[rene-01]

Can I get a fucking uhhhhhhhhhhh

Tord eddsworld

Yes you uhhhhhhhhhhh fuckin can

[martimer-underground]

The Doc's First meeting with Nightmare... Didn't exactly go as smoothly as they hoped.

(uhh a less gradient ver + info under the cut)

I know I really haven't really said too much because I'm still writing out everything I want to... For now I'll just tell you their my little morally grey skrunkley and I like to draw them with the bad sanses.

They work for Nightmare because he can offer them resources that they could never acquire on their own timeline...