leadsan
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Tatsuma finds a weird guy at his door.
"Who are you?" he says, tilting his head to the right to get a better look.
With the intensity of a dying candle, a pair of hollow eyes meets his. "I'm hungry as fuck."
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He was created flawed and faulted for it. It's as much violence as it is cruelty — to be made useless, void of function. To be forced upon existence and denied a purpose.
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Scar tissue is just collagen, so it's kind of like dermal fillers if you think about it by leadsan
Fandoms: Gintama
18 Jun 2022
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Sometimes, Sakamoto Tatsuma thinks.
Gintoki was still standing with his bloodshot eyes; his whole body a collage of scar tissues and fresh wounds.
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Mysta and Vox fuck. That's it.
He loved the thought that now, maybe, the beautiful sounds Vox produces might differ slightly because of him. Because his lips got blood on it; because they were bruised and used by Mysta. Because Vox allowed him to.
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Just an Ikeakuma snippet.
Maybe he'd like it if his life was to be ended by this man.
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Daniel groans and covers his eyes with the heels of his hands. “Fuck. I didn’t mean for it to happen like that.”
“Like…that?” Armand repeats.
“Yeah. Aw, man!” Daniel groans again.
“But you did mean for it to happen?”
“What?” Daniel lowers his hands and looks at Armand.
“You meant to kiss me.”
In which Armand and Daniel’s first kiss doesn’t go how Daniel had imagined it.
Vampire Fest Bloody Valentine prompts ‘first kiss’ and ‘fucked-up gothic romance’
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Daniel sees life like a river. Thinks he is caught up in a current that only goes one way, that will eventually sweep him out to sea. It’s easier for him to think so. It keeps him alive to think so.
He doesn’t know that he could stand up and reach the bottom. He doesn’t know he has a choice.
Drugs don’t work, sex doesn’t work, New York hasn’t worked. Somewhere in the Appalachian Mountains, an improbable number of suicides have taken place. Somewhere in a bar in New York, Daniel hears about them. He wants to fill a void. The difference between what is real and what isn’t matters as little to him as the things he’ll find to throw into the darkness. Which, as it turns out, is quite a lot.
Series
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I'm Not As Think As You Drunk I Am by Mardiaz173
Fandoms: Justice League - All Media Types, DCU, Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
08 Aug 2021
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It was like living in the Twilight Zone. Everyone else believed fervently in Bruce Wayne’s reputation. He was a flirty, stupid, and entitled drunk whose only redeeming quality was his bleeding heart. And yet every time Clark spoke with Wayne, the man was clever, mischievous, and sober with an indecipherable ulterior motive.
And no one believed Clark. Not Lois, not his parents, not even Batman.
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Kara huffs out a breath in frustration. “Every Kryptonian has a heartsong. And they’re beautiful, but when you listen to one on its own it feels like something is missing. It’s like...they have something like this too, right?” She gestures outward impatiently, and Bruce forces himself not to flinch at her casual use of they. “Only they have words written down instead.”
“Soulmates,” Clark says, his voice strained.
The word hits Bruce like a bullet through the lung. He keeps his face perfectly relaxed, his heartbeat calm and regular, as he realizes (too late, he's always too late) that he should have expected this all along.
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"Is he not so perfect in death?" the Urge had whispered. They had been staring at it, at its deep blue skin, at the strange handsomeness of its face, and Enver had felt...
Jealousy. He had felt jealous of the thing. Of a corpse.
The Dark Urge makes an off-hand comment about corpses, and Enver, not to be outdone, makes a plan.
Based off of this comic by haunted-dot on tumblr.