Deku Arm Scars Novels & Stories

Willa suddenly yelped, frozen in shock. Oops. I sighed with a chuckle. Willa's eyes trailed down my body, following my hand. I was about to laugh at her when she tilted his head and fixed her eyes on my back. She noticed my scar. I had a two inches long scar under my left shoulder blade. Werewolves normally wouldn't have scars on their bodies. Unless their wolf couldn't heal them with soul power in time, leaving them to heal in the human way. The human way leaves scars.

“Anyway, how’s your arm?” I instinctively pressed my hand tighter over the small scratch on my forearm. It was just a shallow line from when we’d walked into the arena earlier – my arm had caught on some sharp metal edge sticking out from a barricade. I hadn’t even noticed it at first. Only when Dex pointed out the thin trail of blood did I realize. It wasn’t deep or long, just a minor scrape that was still oozing a little. “Still bleeding a bit,” I replied quietly, keeping my palm pressed over it. “But it’s not that much. Just a scratch.”

A squeak echoes through the silence, and as arms wrap around me, I realize the sound came from me. “I’ve got you,” Lucas says, pulling me to his chest. “No, your injuries—” “Are fine,” he interrupts. He reaches up, grabs the back of his collar, and tugs his ruined shirt over his head. “See?” I don’t want to look at the faint pink scars slice across his torso, a stark contrast to his regularly tanned skin. They’ve healed mostly, but there will always be marks to remind me that he nearly died today. Reaching for my hand, Lucas takes my hand in his and carefully runs my fingers over the marks.

She'd tried to prepare herself, but she had not done such a good job. His face would be unattractive to most, but Kenzie had never been one for conventional handsomeness. To her he was, in a rugged sort of way, but what had her gasping was the several scars that adorned it. Some she could tell where older than others. However, they weren’t jagged. They were smooth, like they had been treated, but not enough for them to disappear and not leave scars. His eyes were a jade green, set against tan skin. She had not been able to tell since everything but his back and claws were covered what his ethnicity was. She still didn’t really know because his kind could have looked at that differently.

“Not just good – amazing.” “One hundred percent amazing,” Jo said solemnly. “Thought so.” Scars held out a huge hand and she took it, felt the raised skin there. Without even looking, Jo knew that he had more scars on his hands and briefly wondered what he must look like under his jeans and blue t-shirt and cut: she’d heard from Jinx that the fire had burned Scars so badly, he’d needed reconstructive skin grafting on his back and legs. “It’s a pleasure, Jo.”

The scar is a container and a protective space where the memory can be stored and endured privately. The causes of scars remain in storage in the body and the mind, and sometimes can shape actions for a person’s entire life. That's what Beneath The Scars is going to talk about . It's going to talk about how to never give up without a fight. W A R N I N G The book contains scenes of self-harm, mentions of abuse and suicide, themes of grief and depression, and sexual content towards the first half of the book . Readers are requested to proceed with caution. Please skip if you see any scene that you may find triggering.

Every muscle and biceps was defined, trained into perfection. But his skin was imperfect. Scars. I had seen a few of them before but mostly the one in his back. They weren’t just one, they were multiple of them. A cruel map of violence, slashed, punctured and jagged tears. Pain lived there. The kind that no cocky smirk could hide.

He surprises me when he sits across me from the bed, turning his back to me but staying close nonetheless. I stared at his wide, muscular frame through his back. He was wearing a tight black shirt that showed off his muscles, flexing deliciously in every move he makes. His shoulders, in particular, were broad and strong-looking. Scars running down from his nape to the back of his arms, letting me know he'd been through shit to get those scars. There were tattoos decorating both his arms. The design intricate and attractive, a work of pure art which probably added to the list of reasons why all she-wolves swooned over him. He was the epitome of perfection, a Greek God in modern time. He was p

Adora stared at his hand holding hers, raised an eyebrow slightly, and smiled calmly. "You’re brave. My skin’s in such a terrible state, and you still dare to touch me." Eugene looked at her arm and recoiled as if shocked by electricity. Adora wore a short-sleeved shirt, and her exposed arms and neck were covered in red rashes. The blisters had ruptured and scabbed over, leaving the surrounding skin inflamed and wrinkled.

Is it worth it to beg? Was this vision of a future we could have had some kind of test, or just one last, fleeting gift from the Goddess? If so, what a tease. What a cruel way to go. My arm suddenly burns furiously. I look down at the scars depicting the entire cycle of the moon trailing from my wrist to my shoulder. The full moon to full moon engraved in silver now shines a bright, endless gold, like the stars are within my skin. The light erupts, blinding me.