{DISCONTINUED}[if you want a Leonardo x reader that hasn't been discontinued, please check out 'Paint'.] Glass bit into the palms of her calloused flesh, angry crimson blood staining her skin, dripping onto the floor. Her eyes were blurred as her mind spun out of sheer rage. "Stop," she choked out, her entire frame shaking. "Stop trying to fix me." She flipped her hand and allowed the shards of broken glass to clatter onto the floor along with the shattered mirror. "If you break a mirror it stays broken, Leonardo." She sniffed loudly, wiping blood across her leaking nose. She stood there for a moment, fingers curling into fists, staring at the floor beneath her, waiting. For what? She wasn't sure. She didn't want to be held by him. That was a lie too. She moved towards the door, placing a hand on the frame as she turned to gaze upon his heart broken features. She swallowed harshly, not daring to make eye contact with him. "There are just some things that cannot be fixed." Her hushed whisper hung heavy in the damp air of the room. A hand print painted of blood was left firmly on the doorway. Fractured, she left. --- Props to @Kasketchie for making the cover. ---

(i hope you'll give this a shot despite the cheesy title) Dedicated to my friend Vanya, whom I started this fanfic for ^^ Wade doesn't think he can be saved. Ever since his face got fucked up, he didn't see much beauty left in him. That was until Peter came around, with a determined goal; to be the hero everyone already thought he was. DISCLAIMER: obviously I don't own the characters, that goes to Marvel. COVER ART CREDITS TO HamletMachine ON DEVIANTART (thanks to @dreamychara for letting me know!) https://www.deviantart.com/hamletmachine

"I'll tell you all the stories you want." In New York, the buildings are quiet as the people of Manhattan sleep. By the glow of the moon, the silhouette of a girl stands atop a roof, her arms crossed as she watches the celestial body with wild green eyes. A heavy sigh escapes her mouth, the dull ache of loneliness reminding her that she's alive; she survived another night. Even so, she can't help but wonder what she's missing. Normal doesn't suit Destiny's lifestyle. Through some happening when she was only a baby, she was transformed into a wolf-human hybrid. She did everything for herself, by herself. She escaped her captors, she gave herself a name, she learned to protect herself and survive on the harsh streets, and above all, she never showed her face to any human. She's a mutation living in the shadow of the moonlight, and to her, that's the way it'll always be. She's cursed to be a lone wolf, watching the moon and dreaming of how it could be different. Book One in the Mutations Series HIGHEST RANKING: #1 in TMNT Song: Amnesia by 5 Seconds of Summer

he was crowned with countless stars stolen from the skies by a single sweep of his gold plated wings . freeform poetry / proses with plot au where there are people born with wings and society wants to kill them lgbt+ content, slight nsfw trigger warning : violence, suicidal © greenleaf . i was tired so i wrote this instead of crying myself to sleep

"Get the fuck away from me," I growl. Started December 2018 - October 27th, 2019

Connecting to Video Chat... "Hi!" "Oh. Oh my god. Oh god." "What?" "I thought you were a boy." --- all characters and situations in "i thought you were a boy" are works of fiction. highest rankings: #2 in Short Story (07/15/17) #1 in "girlxgirl" (06/11/17) #1 in "freethelgbt" (09/06/17) #1 in LGBT+ (06/15/17) #1 in "shortstorycollection" (09/30/18) #22 in "story" (10/06/18)

John's never seen a kid like him. He has this beautiful, crazy grace - withheld behind a smug smile and wisecracks that make John frustrated in so many different kinds of ways. And his eyes; crystal clear, decisive, cleaning through the unimportant things to find the valuables in life. He may or may not have a thing for smoking and James Bond, his favorite ice cream is mint with a chocolate swirl, and he is absolutely addicted to Pop Rocks and toffee. He enjoys pretty boys and warehouses, where he can hoard and think and be alone. Also, bumper cars, and John Watson. But Sherlock Holmes's thing, his niche, his calling in life... is to steal. Books. Wallets. Phones. Cars. Everything you've ever wanted, he's had. Everything you've ever wished for, he's stolen. Everything you are, everything you told yourself that you weren't, he owns, and he plays you like an out-of-tune violin. Does that mean that John's going to let him steal his heart? Not a shot in hell.